


Kingdom hearts

by Wisslan



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Blood, Drugs, F/M, Kingdom!AU, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prostitution, Sex, Shooting, Smoking, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-25 21:59:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9847826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wisslan/pseuds/Wisslan
Summary: Two star crossed lovers. The prince and a street boy meet and fall in love. Will they overcome the paths laid out for them?Meanwhile George and Ringo try to figure out what's going on between them, can there ever be something more than friendship?





	1. Humble beginnins

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I started this a while back but put of actually writing it for a while but now I'm back in the swing of it and writing a story that's not only shameless smut. I hope you'll enjoy it! 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Later chapters will involve prostitution and it's in no means used to put down the girls. I love both Pattie and Astrid and I try to talk about it with as much proffesionalism as I can.

Paul McCartney, the unfortunate heir of a king, a future ruler of a kingdom that he despised and he was never happy. Of course he could plaster on a grin when greeting Her Majesty whatever from country whatever but as soon as a door closed behind his back and he was on his own he dropped the act of being a polite gentleman and returned to moping about. There was nothing to do, ever. He was stuck inside the walls of the palace. His father was down with a bad case of paranoia, especially since Paul was the only heir to his kin, if Paul were to die, what would he do? He didn’t have a wife, she died long ago and he was too old to have children anyway. This meant that keeping a stern eye on Paul was necessary. Which lead up to today. 

“Your majesty, I’m sorry to disturb you but we found this boy, sneaking around in the garden.” Brian Epstain stood in the middle of the throne room. He was Jim McCartney, the king’s advisor. “We think he might be a spy.” 

“Well boy.” Jim started, staring down at the boy. “Are you a spy?” 

“That’s a stupid question.” The boy said and finally caught Paul’s attention. No one dared to ever speak back to the king. “Why would I reply with ‘yes your honour, I’m in fact a spy’? That’d be quite a shit spy, don’t you think?” 

Paul was sitting in his throne next to his father’s, resting his chin in one hand and gazing longingly out of the window. Now his eyes snapped to the boy who was sat on his knees on the ground, hands shackled in front of him, auburn hair untidy and hanging into his eyes. The prince had never seen such an untidy person before, dressed in the skinniest jeans ever produced and a ratty leatherjacket that looked like it had been worn for at least two centuries. 

“How dare you talk back to His majesty!” The guard standing next to Brian scolded, slapping the of the boy’s head, making his head fly forward. 

Paul couldn’t see the boy’s face anymore as his long locks were hanging across his face. He glanced warily at his father. 

“I could have you flogged for saying that boy.” The king warned, his grip on the armrests tightening. “If you aren’t a spy, then what were you doing in our garden?” 

The boy’s head snapped up, a grin across his sharp face. 

“Just strolled in, had a piss. I was just about to leave.” The boy spat and got slapped yet again. 

Paul’s heart flipped at the words which slipped out of the boy’s mouth. This kid really didn’t know when to shut up. He glanced over at his father whose knuckles were now turning white. 

“Well you asked!” The boy shrugged, raising his head up. “Now I’ve got stuff to do, places to be, do you mind?” He raised his shackled hands, rustling his chains.

“Flog him.” Jim hissed. “Flog him until he can’t walk!” 

The guards grabbed the boy, tugging him up. One of them, Neil, had a whip that he un-clatched from his belt, cracking it down on the floor. Paul felt his heart stop as they began ripping his jacket up, pushing it over his head along with his shirt. All the while the boy was smiling, his eyes catching Paul’s. A cold hand wrapped itself around the young prince’s heart as Neil grabbed the boy’s hair, holding him still and handing his whip to the other guard. He didn’t want to see this boy whipped, not with a smile like that.

The whip cracked in the air. Paul flinched, the boy didn’t move a muscle until the whip fell on his exposed back. He watched as the boy’s smiling face contorted into a grimace of pain. The whip came back up, blood making the leather cord gleam. Another lash fell and he grunted. A third, a forth, a fifth. A sixth fell, obviously hitting an already sore spot. The boy arched in their grip, a scream escaping his lips, sounding shrill in Paul’s ear. The prince winced, a hand coming to rest over his mouth. Seven, eight, nine lashes, all paired with brutal screams that shook him to the bone. The last lash fell, the boy’s mouth fell open in a silent scream. Somehow the silence was even scarier than the actual noise. Paul watched like slow motion as the boy’s eyes paled, the life in them rolling back. His body followed as he was released, falling into the floor with a sickening crack. 

“Wake him.” Jim grunted. 

Paul couldn’t believe his father. Was he honestly going to punish the poor boy more? Brian seemed to share Paul’s train of thought as he glanced down at the bleeding heap on the floor before gently kneeling down, patting the boy’s cheek until a groan was heard and he twitched. 

The guard grabbed him by his shoulders, pulling him back up on his knees. His nose was bleeding from the fall he had taken but it didn’t look broken. Thank god.

“I sentence him to ten years in the dungeon.” His father bellowed. 

Paul’s mind stilled. The dungeons was a place of slavery and torture. Was his father really considering throwing a young boy, not much older than himself down there? 

“No!” The words slipped out by themselves. Everyone in the room snapped their eyes towards him. “Please, I’ll take him.” 

“You’ll what?” Jim McCartney questioned. His boy had always been chivalrous, a kind soul like his mother. But he had to learn to earn his respect! A kind king ruled a weak kingdom. “Take him, and do what? No, in the name of the court. Heavens no!” 

“Your majesty, if I may interfere.” Brian spoke up, doing a gentle bow towards his father. “As you know your son is a wonderful young man, with lacking responsibility.” Paul’s father huffed at that. Paul opened his mouth to disagree but was silenced by a look from Brian. “And if I dare say he’d need someone to look after him. As well as he needs to know how to rule over his own servants. My proposal is that as a punishment, this rascal becomes the Prince’s servant, for as long as the Prince needs him.” 

Paul blinked a few times, looking down at the boy. His long hair was hanging into his face and he was looking rather hazy from pain. Jim studied him to and then looked at his son. The boy’s eyes were wet and he was breathing heavily, obviously not used to seeing someone get whipped just yet. Brian did have a point. He had been around for years after all, there was probably some wisdom to his words. 

“If I find him causing any trouble I’ll throw him into the dungeon.” Jim McCartney muttered, waving his hand. “Dismissed all of you. Bring the boy up to Paul’s rooms. Paul you are free to go too.” 

“Thank you, father.” Paul breathed and scurried out of his chair, running down the few steps from the elaborate platform that their thrones stood on and following the guards and Brian out of the room. The boy was tugged to his feet and practically dragged out of the room. 

The walk to his quarters didn’t take much time and he ordered the guards to put the boy on his bed. They did as asked and then slipped out of the room. Brian stayed around to fuss over some first aid kit. Paul let him be, crawling up on his king sized bed and kneeling next to the boy who laid on his stomach, his jacket and shirt covering up the wounds. Brian came back with a box filled with what Paul guessed were medical supplies. He ushered the older man out of the room, wanting to have some privacy with the boy. 

Brian exited the room, closing the heavy doors behind him, leaving an eerie silence behind. Paul watched the boy who was panting lightly but otherwise calm. He had been untied as he was moved onto the bed and his hands were splayed out on either side of his head. His hair had probably been styled once but had now been tousled and roughed up which meant that auburn strands hung into his sharp face which was built up on angles. Now as Paul looked closer, the boy was breathtakingly beautiful, sharp nose, thin lips and strong jaw. His eyes fluttered open and his pupils found Paul. 

“Alright?” He mumbled. Voice rough from screaming. 

“Hi.” Paul replied timidly. “What’s your name?” 

“John.” The boy mumbled. His hand moved out and patted Paul’s knee. “Nice to meet you.” 

“Yeah.” Paul watched John’s hand, no one dared to touch him so casually. “I-I’m sorry about everything.” 

“I’ve had worse.” John chuckled darkly. “Look, princess. Would you mind cleaning me back?” 

“I’m not a princess!” Paul protested, a blush spreading over his cheeks. This brat is awfully cheeky, he thought. Even so he reached over to the first aid kit and opened it, looking through all the supplies. “And I don’t really know what to do…” 

“I’ll talk you through.” John sighed. “First take my jacket off, yeah, good. And then my shirt.” 

Paul gulped harshly. The originally beige turtleneck was stained dark red with blood which had dried up, sticking to John’s skin. Slowly he gripped the edge, giving it a gentle pull. It barely budged and John let out a pained grunt. 

“Fucking hell, princess.” John groaned. “It won’t budge if you poke it. Give it a proper tug, alright?” 

The prince took a shaky breath, nodding. Closing his eyes he gave the shirt a harsh tug as instructed. The crusts beginning to form over the wounds came undone and the shirt lifted from John’s back, revealing the trashed, bleeding skin. Paul wanted to wretch. 

“There you go.” John grunted and managed to wriggle his way out of the shirt. “Use this to dry it up.”

“It’s bleeding a lot.” Paul said shakily and crumpled the shirt into a ball. He used it to wipe the worst of the fluids away, but to no avail. John kept bleeding. 

“That’s alright.” He mumbled, wincing as the rough cloth came down on his back. “It will stop eventually. Grab bandages, or whatever you have.” 

“Yeah.” Paul mumbled and reached for the roll of bandage. Meanwhile, John gently hiked his body up on his elbows. A few pained noises escaped him as he moved to all fours. He stopped there to take a breath. Paul admired his lean, hairless body. The boy had a layer of sweat on him, making him shine. 

John sat back on his heels eyes closed for a minute, obviously trying to ignore the pain as it pounded his back. 

“Gimme that.” He then mumbled and grabbed the roll of bandage. His fingers shook as he unwrapped the end and held it to his side. He wrapped the bandage around himself, covering up most of his wounds. When the roll was empty he tucked the edge down and reached for another one. 

Paul took it from his fingers with a huff and unwrapped it himself. He scooted closer to John and held the edge to John’s chest, starting to gently wrap the bandage around him again. The older boy watched him work. His soft fingers sliding over his skin and he smirked. 

Once Paul finished he sat back and crossed his arms. He wasn’t the useless, spoiled brat that everyone thought he was. 

“Thanks, luv.” John said and got out of the bed. “Got a shirt I can borrow?” 

“Where are you going?” Paul asked with a frown. 

“Well, you aren’t keeping me here.” John said and brought two fingers up to his face. He pressed down on his nose slightly, hissing at the pain. He then put them under his nose, withdrawing and seeing a faint prick of blood. “Christ, they really roughed me up this time, huh?” 

Paul rolled his eyes and got up. He grabbed John’s shirt, standing in front of the older boy. He was a few inches shorter than the other boy. John watched silently as Paul dabbed away the blood underneath his nose. 

“There.” Paul mumbled, throwing the shirt to the floor. “You can’t leave by the way. Don’t know if you heard but you’re supposed to be my servant.” 

“Oh I heard.” John said and turned to walk to the window. “Doesn’t mean that I’ll be your servant.” 

“They’ll throw you into the dungeon.” Paul huffed and crossed his arms. 

“Doesn’t bother me, does it bother you?” John asked as he sat down in the window. He kicked his dirty feet up on the white wood that framed the window. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking out at the grey sky. 

“Well, yes!” Paul put his hands on his hips. “I don’t want you to die.” 

“Oh what a gentleman!” John let out, mimicking the voice of an old lady. “I’m swooning!” 

“Shuddup.” Paul muttered, a smile tugging on the corner of his lips. “You know that you get free food if you stay here, right?” 

“Free food?” John perked up at that, glancing over at Paul. 

“Yeah, and clothes.” Paul continued. “And a bed to sleep in.”

“Now we’re talking, princess!” John exclaimed. “I might even consider staying here then.” 

And stay he did. Paul found out soon enough that John had been living on the streets with a few other friends. He played the harmonica and guitar to earn money that he spent getting high most days. Other than that John didn’t talk much about his background. He quickly settled into the role of a servant for Paul, mostly because he didn’t have to do much. The prince was happy just having John as company most days. He was unbelievably clever and spent most of his free time reading books that he found in Paul’s library. Even Brian was impressed by him. 

Just a few days after the initial “coming of the devil” as Brian called it the king hosted a party. When John heard the word party his interest instantly peaked but it wasn’t his kind of party. When Paul explained it to him his mood instantly dropped. Apparently it was more of a politics thing with slow dancing, fancy drinks and a lot of mingling and talking. 

John was even supposed to be working during the evening. Which meant that he had to dress smartly and get his hair done. 

“John sit still.” Brian ordered, hands on his hips and a hairbrush in one hand. 

“Well I can’t when you’re tugging my hair out of their roots!” John complained, crossing his arms as Brian went back to work. He pressed the brush down against John’s hair, tugging through the gigantic tangles. 

“Well you need to learn how to brush your hair.” Brian huffed, finally untangling the bird’s nest and taking some wax. He flattened it all into a nice back slick. “There, now get dressed.” 

John mumbled something under his breath and got off the wooden stool he was sat on and trudged over to the bed. He reluctantly put on the black slacks and white, pressed dress shirt as well as the bow tie. Brian watched him, hands back down on his hips. When he was all dressed he threw his arms out in a ‘ta-da’ motion, showing Brian what he looked like. 

“You need to do your buttons properly.” Brian tutted and walked over. He grabbed the collar of John’s shirt and did up the last button. 

“I’m going to choke!” John protested. Brian just shook his head. “If I die in this shirt, I’m blaming you!” 

“You won’t die.” Brian sighed. “Now that you’re ready. This is what you will be doing tonight.” 

He pulled out a list from his own black slacks and stated all the billion things that John had to fix. The boy groaned and tuned him out halfway through. 

Paul was dressed in his new tux. It was pure black with a white dress shirt and a dark red tie. The lining of his suit jacket and pants were golden and the buttons were golden too. His hair was done and he was sprayed with perfume. The girls that had helped him dress were fawning and cooing over how handsome he was. Paul couldn’t care less, there was only one person on his mind and he’d been stuck on his mind for days. John. He knew that John would be working at his party. He had groaned about it for forty minutes straight until Paul had promised to sneak him some drinks. Paul sighed as he studied himself in the mirror, twisting and turning. It was tailored to fit him perfectly and he hated to say it but he looked good, and he enjoyed looking good. 

“Sir?” One of the girls spoke up, catching his attention. “You need to go downstairs now.”

“Yeah, thank you.” He sighed, flashing her a charming smile. 

The party was hosted in one of the many ball rooms. The purple one which Paul liked the most, thankfully. The décor inside was beautiful. Gigantic chandeliers, shiny wallpaper. The floor was dark wooden, leaving a warm feeling to settle over the room. He entered the room through the massive glass doors and was instantly spotted by Jane Asher with her red flowing hair tied up in a really tight hairdo, complete with braids and jewellery. She was the princess from a few countries over and she was beautiful. Paul was going to marry her one day. Not because he wanted to necessarily. Mostly because their fathers had made an agreement at their births that they would marry one another. Something about settling a war of some kind. Brian had explained it to him once when he was younger and prone to asking questions. Jane came to him wearing her usual kind smile and kissed his cheek.

“You look lovely.” She told him, correcting his tie with those nimble fingers. “New suit?” 

“Yes.” He replied, wrapping his arms around her waist. “New dress?” 

It was the same shade of red as his tie. A simple thing that Paul knew must have cost a fortune. Jane smiled and nodded, resting her hands on his shoulders as they waltzed off into dance. Eyes locked on each other. 

John stood off to the side, leaning against one of the pillars, an empty silver tray clutched to his chest. His eyes were stuck on Paul. The boy was stunning, showing off his shoulders and waist in that suit. Something deep down in his stomach knotted itself up and he clutched the silver tray, his knuckles turning white. There was a dainty red headed thing in Paul’s arms, looking at him with a fond smile, but not loving enough for Paul, his Paul. Those thoughts had been reoccurring for him lately. A tingling feeling spread through his body as soon as Paul looked his way or worse, spoke to him. Even now when Paul was dancing with that girl, her thin waist in his arms he could feel his stomach knot itself up. Realisation hit John like a bag of bricks. He was jealous. Growling quietly he tore his eyes away from the happy couple and tried to focus on whatever the fuck he was supposed to do. That’s right, he was supposed to serve drinks. He gathered his scattered mind and strutted back to the kitchen. As soon as he walked through the metal doors to the industrial kitchen he was tugged over by one of the chefs. His tray was loaded back up with drinks and he was pushed back out of the room to return to the party. 

Paul and Jane had stopped dancing in order to mingle around with the guests attending. Jane lead most of the conversations since she was really into politics and all the things that Paul only pretended to be interested in. Soon enough Jane left his side to find her mother. She told him that she needed to speak to her about something. Paul had just smiled and nodded, but as he watched her leave a sense of dread found its way into his body. You know that feeling when you’re in a room full of people but you are lonely, like the world continues without you and you are left behind. That feeling hit Paul suddenly and he desperately looked around for something. Amongst all the people someone seemed to be moving towards him. He squinted slightly and then recognised the nicely clad waiter coming his way, John. Paul let out a shaky breath as they made eye contact. John cocked his head to the side, nodding to some far away corner. Paul let the waiter guide him out of the crowd and to a more secluded corner. They found a smaller ball room and quickly slipped inside, Paul closing the doors behind them. 

John quickly put his tray down on one of the tables and picked up to of the glasses. He handed one off to Paul before eyeing up a couch that stood off to one side. He strolled over to the luscious piece of furniture and sank down into it, a groan escaping him as his tired feet finally got some rest. Paul couldn’t help by chuckle at the way John spread out, looking like an old drunk. 

“Can’t believe they made you do actual work?” Paul teased and walked over to him, taking a sip of his drink. John grunted something in return. “Poor thing.” 

He sat down next to John, studying his form. The older was dressed really nicely and his hair was done for once, combed and slicked back against his head. 

“Who’s your girl?” John then asked. 

“Her name is Jane.” Paul replied, looking down at the sparkly drink in his hand. “I’m supposed to marry her one day.” 

“You don’t sound too happy ‘bout it.” John hummed. “Hasn’t she got nice tits or what?” 

“John!” Paul scolded, a blush creeping over his cheeks. “It’s nothing like that. She’s a nice girl, I just didn’t choose her. I don’t really love her, I guess.” 

“Terrible.” John said half-heartedly, drowning the rest of his drink. 

“Hey, you asked.” Paul said, taking another sip of his drink. 

“You looked like you were enjoying yourself when you danced.” John continued on as he put the glass on the coffee table in front of them. “What’s that stuff called?” 

“Waltz.” Paul replied. They sat in silence for a few seconds before a devilish smile started to play on Paul’s lips “John? You don’t know how to dance, do you?” 

“Of course I can dance!” John let out. “I just don’t know the bloody name of your twinkle toeing dances! You should see me in the club. The girls are drooling over me at all times.” 

“You waltz in the club?” Paul giggled in disbelief. 

“No, I shake my ass in the club.” John defended. “What are you getting at?” 

“You don’t know how to waltz.” Paul concluded as he got out of the couch. John’s eyes followed him warily. “Come on, I’ll teach you.” 

John raised an eyebrow at Paul and crossed his arms. He was no, in any way going to twinkle toe around with the prince of the country. Not in a million, billion..! Why did Paul feel the need to pout at him? He should just fuck off with his big, sad eyes and pouty looks. Oh for fuck’s sake. John sighed as he got out of the couch and walked over to where Paul had moved out on the floor. Paul took John’s hands and placed one on his shoulder and gripped the other. John felt a shiver run through his body at Paul’s soft touch. His body felt overly sensitive and Paul was the culprit. 

“The steps are easy.” Paul said as his hand came to rest on John’s waist. “You take one step and then you sort of stomp in place, like this.” 

John stared down at Paul’s feet as the other moved flawlessly. He tried to follow and ended up stepping on Paul’s shiny shoes. The other boy just laughed and told him not to worry about it so John didn’t. Soon enough he got it and focused on following the rhythm to the faint sound of music that could be heard through the wall. He tore his focus away from his feet for a moment to meet Paul’s eyes which were set on his. Paul was smiling, that fond smile that he saved for Jane but this time it reached his eyes. John felt his heart race and he couldn’t move his eyes away. His breath came out heavy and he could feel Paul’s hand sliding further in on his back. His body was tucked closer to Paul’s soft form. Now he was the dainty thing in Paul’s arms and he found himself not objecting. 

Paul stared into John’s hazel eyes, enjoying the empowerment he felt from leading him in the dance. He didn’t think that John had quite grasped the fact that he was being lead around like a girl, that or he didn’t care. Paul figured it was the former. Something about the fact that he was dancing with John made his body fill with energy and tingling warmth, spreading from John’s hand and his waist, everywhere where he touched him. He hugged John’s hand as he brought him closer. A grip that made most girls fawn. John just locked their eyes together, an unreadable look on his face. Paul didn’t even mind that John was a pretty shit dancer. 

The song ended sooner than they both expected. John had barely payed any attention to the music. His sole focus was on Paul and he wanted to stay in the moment forever, just dancing because now Paul had eyes for no one but him, but he knew that wasn’t possible as they came to a halt. His hands lingered on Paul a second too long before he finally gripped his mind and slipped his hands away from him. Their eyes lingered on each other a second too long and John felt his body run cold. Quickly he turned to the table where he’d placed his tray. He picked it back up. 

“We should get going.” Paul said quietly, eyes never leaving John’s moving form. “Jane is probably looking for me.” 

John huffed a reply, his mood cascading at the mention of Paul’s so called lover. He barely glanced at him, just rushed back out of the room. Paul followed him but he was already lost in the sea of people. With a sigh, Paul turned his unwilling lips into a smile and he searched the crowd for Jane. 

 

Days turned into weeks and spring turned into summer. Paul had dreams of that night, dreams of dancing with John. Always with John but in different settings and locations, never in the castle. He’d dance until his feet hurt, until his head spun. Just to be close to John. 

As the nights grew shorter John grew restless. Paul could always find him sitting in his window, staring out at the world outside, a pained look on his face. Much like a trapped animal. One of his father’s rules for John was that he wasn’t allowed outside. He had tried to sneak out a few times, always getting caught, flogged and sent back up to Paul’s quarters, which he was rarely allowed to leave anyway. 

John knew that Paul enjoyed having him around and he was fond of the boy so he made sure to plaster on a smile, helping him with his studies or whatever he needed that day. Paul felt terrible for him because he could see that John wasn’t happy. So he tried to fix things, leading up to Paul barging into his bedroom with a large box in his hands. 

He was sat in that bloody window again, curled up and staring out like a grumpy old man. He hated it, loathed the gloomy cloud that hung over the otherwise sparkly boy. Paul hurried over to him, kicking his feet aside and sitting down in the window as well. The space was a bit cramped but they managed. 

“Got you something.” Paul said softly and handed the box off to John who carefully took it. “A present!” 

John raised an eyebrow and peeled off the tape holding the box together. He gently took the lid off to reveal a dark wooden guitar. John blinked a few times before gently letting his fingers run across the strings. 

“These are expensive, Paul.” He whispered, voice full of awe. 

“I’m the prince of the country, you think I’m tight on money, Johnny?” Paul asked, using the nickname that he had grown fond off during John’s stay. “Can you play me something?” 

“Sure.” John said slowly, gently lifting the guitar out of its box. He put it on his lap, feeling the familiar weight of the instrument on his knees. He let his fingers strum over the strings, it was nicely tuned and he hummed appreciatively 

Paul watched John’s fingers strum over the guitar with practised ease, sweet sounds escaping the instrument. He sighed and leaned his head back, watching him play fondly. He looked relaxed now, calm and relaxed. An honest smile was on his lips as he played, humming along to a tune that Paul had never heard before. He could faintly remember John telling him that he wrote his own songs, maybe this was one of them. 

Soon enough the space in the window became too cramped and they moved to Paul’s bed. John never stopped playing, soothing melodies floating through the room. Paul found himself relaxing, sliding down until his head was resting against John’s shoulder. The older boy didn’t say anything. He switched tune and started singing, his voice equally as sweet as his guitar playing. 

Paul felt his eyes droop, slowly slipping shut, tuning out everything but John’s guitar and voice. It didn’t take long until he was asleep.

They made it into a routine. As stars appeared on the sky the pair retreated into bed. John playing him to sleep and then probably tucking him in as Paul never remember slipping in under his blankets but always finding himself tucked down under them in the morning and John sleeping in his own little room. 

John had started to wake him up in the mornings too. Usually that was Brian’s job but John had taken it up recently. His dad had probably ordered him around again. He was also doing Paul’s laundry most days, meaning that he got to get out of his room every other day. Chores kept piling up on him and the only time Paul really got to see him was at night and in the morning. Deep down it hurt, it really hurt because John was constantly stressed out, trying to keep up with the workload he was given. The little light in his eyes that had appeared when Paul got him the guitar was fading again.


	2. Close your eyes and I'll kiss you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to update everyday but I can't promise anything.

John crashed onto his bed, face down. His feet were aching from running errands and Paul had just fallen asleep, his last chore for the night was finished and he could finally rest. His eyes found the small window that let in the last streams of sunlight for the day. Warm red shades that he’d love to feel against his skin again. He longed for his friends outside of the castle walls. He longed for the grotty apartment that they shared, which wasn’t even a real apartment. It was an abandoned apartment building, taken over by a small brothel and street kids. Kids like John himself. He sighed heavily, closing his eyes and then falling asleep. 

He woke up the next morning by the shrill sound of his alarm clock. God fucking damn that thing. He wanted to bust it to pieces, throw it against the wall repeatedly until there was nothing left but dust. Slowly he moved himself out of the bed, slamming his hand down on the evil item. The ringing stopped and he groaned, stretching his arms up over his head. Getting ready for the work day didn’t take long. Getting ready meant pulling a hand through his tangled hair and putting on a white dress shirt. Oh how John hated that shirt. It was itchy, stale and the collar felt like it was choking him. If he dared to leave it undone someone would find him and cane his hands. He wasn’t in the mood to rebel this early in the morning so he did his collar like a good boy and tucked the tails of his shirt into his slacks before exiting his little scrub and walking down to the kitchen. 

John entered the luxurious kitchen, breakfast was ready on a roll and he was given yesterday’s dinner left overs along with cold tea. It was usually hot but the cooks generally hated him so sometimes he came down to cold tea or no tea at all. He drank it anyway to go along with the slightly hardened bread and cold pieces of meat left over from yesterday. After the shitty meal he found Paul’s breakfast tray waiting for him on the kitchen counter. Today Paul had French toast, scrambled eggs, cut up fruit, orange juice and nice hot tea. John merely scoffed whilst his stomach growled. 

He made his merry way up to Paul’s bedroom, poking the door open with his foot. As expected Paul was sleeping in his bed, covers tucked up to his nose and beautiful long eyelashes resting on his cheeks. John smiled softly and made his way over. He put the tray down on the bedside table and sat down on the bed. Sometimes he just wanted to watch Paul for a few minutes. Since the young prince was often pressured by the weight and responsibility of being the heir to a shit king he wore a frown most days. Now the frown was gone and he was at peace. John could watch him sleep forever. 

With a sigh, John regained his composure, standing up and leaning over him instead. He grabbed Paul’s shoulder, giving him a good shake until the young prince stirred, frowned and hummed something. Soon enough his beautiful eyes opened and he stretched, blinking up at John. 

“Morning princess.” John teased. “The day is young and so are you. I’ve got you breakfast.” 

“M not a princess.” Paul mumbled sleepily but sat up none the less. “Come.”

He patted the spot next to him on the bed, making John raise an eyebrow. This was rather unusual. Did Paul want him to get in the bed with him? 

“I don’t think so, princess.” John said, scratching the back of his neck. “You have studies to attend to and I need to…” 

Paul interrupted him with his two dainty hands grabbing his shirt. He was violently tugged onto the bed next to Paul. The younger cuddled up to him sleepily. 

“Shut up.” He mumbled. John attempted to move away, only for Paul to hug his arm tightly, refusing to let him get out of the bed. “No, you stay here. I don’t have school today and I asked Brian to cover your chores.”

“What? Why?” John asked, bewildered. 

“Because I want to spend a day with you, and I’m the prince. I get what I want.” Paul said, matter-of-factly. “Did you bring breakfast?”

John nodded and reached for the tray. He grabbed it off the bedside table and gently put it down in Paul’s lap. The boy released his arm in favour of shifting over onto his knees, carefully balancing the tray all the while. When he found himself in a good position he grabbed the fork, picking up a piece of the scrambled eggs. He put the fork to John’s lips, urging him to eat. John kept his eyes on Paul’s and let him feed him the scrambled eggs. Who was he to refuse good food? 

“What are you doing?” John asked as he chewed and watch Paul scoop up more scrambled eggs onto his fork. 

“I’m feeding you.” Paul said. “Open up, Johnny!” 

John opened his mouth obediently. Paul scooped more eggs into his mouth which he chewed down. Paul fed some to himself, letting John admire how damn cute Paul was, sitting in just underwear and some giant flannel pyjama shirt. He had such an innocent, determined look on his face as he insisted on feeding John scrambled eggs and fruit. John could very well be feeding himself but there was something very endearing about having Paul do it for him. The charming, robust Paul McCartney who had lead him around in a ballroom or whom John had watched commanding people around was vanished and the young boy John knew Paul was, sat next to him instead. The honest and easy going Paul. John loved every side of him. 

They finished breakfast together and John put the tray aside. Paul settled back against the headboard and manoeuvred John to sit between his legs, back to Paul’s chest. They were not new to intimacy but Paul taking command was pretty new, especially when he was in one of his moods, as John called it. John didn’t even protest about being handled like a teddy, in fact he rather enjoyed it. 

Paul pushed his hands into John’s hair, immediately getting stuck on the many tangles. With a huff he slowly began to undo them. Soft fingers treading through the auburn strands, separating them from each other. John closed his eyes, the gentle tugging on his scalp felt like a massage and he found himself relaxing into Paul’s chest. His heart pounded softly into John’s ear, a soothing lullaby for tired minds. 

John forgot to knock and now he was standing in the door of Paul’s bedroom. The prince was very much naked in front of him, covered only by a small towel around his waist. He blinked a few times, letting keen eyes run over the other’s body. Paul looked so much different from everybody that he knew. His body wasn’t scrawny or lean with harsh skin and muscle. He had actual flesh on his body and his skin was milky white. Not the sickly pale and not with an uneven tan like the one John had. Paul was beautiful and with miles of long legs. 

“Christ Johnny you really were raised on the streets!” Paul let out. Embarrassment was evident in his features, the way he covered himself, a flush spreading over his face and chest. That’s adorable, John noted. “Don’t you know how to knock?”

“And you weren’t.” John teased. “Come on, you’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before!” 

“How would you know?” Paul asked as he slipped off towards his walk in closet. That closet thing always impressed John. Who need that amount of clothes? He himself owned two outfits, one for winter and one for summer. “I might have a tentacle monster under the towel!” 

John bit his lip at the mention of what was underneath Paul’s towel. He opened his mouth to say that he’d very much like to see what was underneath the towel but quickly closed it again. Images of a naked Paul McCartney slipped through his brain, making blood rush south. 

No, no, no! Grandma, spiders, cougars! John willed the images of Paul’s ass to go away and he managed to shake it off before the problem rouse more. 

“Well if there’s a tentacle monster I’d like to see it.” He found himself saying. Sometimes he really needed to think things through before he spoke. Apparently Paul thought so too as John could hear a surprised “wah!” and then a loud thud. The idiot had slipped over something. “Shit, princess are you alright?” 

He forgot about the fact that Paul was nude and hurried to the closet. He rushed inside to see Paul on his stomach, towel flipped up to expose his ass. He had tripped over a shoebox but that didn’t register in John’s mind until much later. He was staring at Paul’s butt. The pictures he had summoned of his grandma flew out of the window and he was left with the sexiest thing John had seen to date. All that ran through his head was images of Paul, spread out underneath him, body glazed with sweat, shimmering as he moved and face contorted in ecstasy. 

JOHN LENNON YOU STUPUD HOMOSEXUAL! John snapped back to reality and hurried into action. He put his hands under Paul’s arms and helped him up. Neither of them said a word as John handed him clothes and he got dressed. 

When he woke up he had his head in Paul’s lap. He stretched a bit, rolling over so he could look up at Paul only to be greeted with a book cover in his face. 

“What are you reading?” He asked, lifting a hand to rub the sleep out of his eyes. 

“East of Eden.” Paul said, lifting a hand to comb through John’s now untangled hair. “I haven’t gotten very far, but it’s good.” 

“Read to me?” John asked. Paul smiled and nodded. He flipped back to the first page and started to read out loud. 

“John?” They had switched positions now and were sat next to each other. John had fetched his guitar and he was strumming a familiar tune. “Can you teach me how to play?” 

“Sure, princess.” 

“John? Are you hungry?”

“A bit.” 

“I’ll ask Brian to come up with lunch, I’ll be right back.”

“Alright.” 

“Can I feed you again?” 

“Sure.” 

“John, could you play me Norwegian wood again?” 

“Mm.”

“I’m tired.” 

“Go to sleep, princess. I’ll stay.” 

“Could I sleep in your arms?”

“Sure.” 

John settled down against the pillows. Paul laid himself over him, tucking his head in under his chin and splaying one hand over his chest. John’s arms came to rest around his waist. Paul was so soft. Most of the people he had slept with before were skinny, edgy or muscled. His prince was none of that, just soft curves and wispy hair. John hugged him tighter, pushing his nose into Paul’s dark locks, engulfing himself with the smell of Paul. The younger boy crept closer, his legs tangling themselves together with John’s until there was not a centimetre of space between them and just like that, he fell asleep. 

John heard his breath even out and found himself relaxing. He kissed the top of Paul’s head before catching himself and yanking his head back to the pillows. What was he thinking? This was the heir to the throne, a royalty! He couldn’t just go around kissing him, dreaming of him, fawning after him like some girl down in the villages. John sighed and closed his eyes, submerging himself into his own mind for a while. He couldn’t go messing around with the prince, he really shouldn’t even be doing this! Laying with Paul in bed… What if someone walked in? Someone who wasn’t Brian. That men took most things relation-wise very easily, and according to Paul and the gossip around the castle Brian was gay. He’d understand, right? Oh god damn it! He was tired of being coped up in here, he had played this game for way too long, inching around the prince and his court, being punished for every little side step. If he had wanted his life to turn out like this then he would have stayed at the good damn orphanage! No, John was sick and tired of this. He wanted to get out and he wanted it now. But how? He looked down at Paul who was sleeping peacefully on his chest, cheek mushed underneath him. Gently he removed his arms from the boy. He thankfully didn’t stir, now came the hard part. He had to move Paul away from his body. His hands landed softly on Paul’s shoulder and he pushed him off, sliding out from underneath him. John swallowed harshly and sat up, looking down at Paul. This felt much like sneaking out on one of the harem girls. He slowly got off the bed, looking down at Paul, sleeping soundly in the bed. Such a pretty thing.

 

Paul woke up to a strange noise. He was alone now but he faintly remembered falling asleep in John’s arms. John, where was he? Paul sat up in panic, looking around and spotting a figure in the window. 

“John?” He let out. The figure looked back at him, Paul could barely make him out in the dark that had come with the nightfall. “What are you doing?” 

He moved out of bed, walking over to John and seeing that his window was open. John was straddling the window frame, one leg balanced on a ledge right below it. Paul stopped dead in his tracks. John looked just like that first day when he had arrived. His hair was done up and he had retrieved his leather jacket that Paul had saved in his wardrobe. The prince felt like he had been punched in the gut. John was leaving.

“I’m sorry, princess.” John whispered. Those words echoed through Paul’s head as he charged at John, grabbing his wrist with all his power. 

“You’re not leaving.” Paul commanded, hands tangling themselves in the leather from John’s jacket. “Please, I don’t want to be alone!” 

“I’ll go crazy if I am coped up in here.” John said quietly, glancing out at the castle yard. He had watched the guards’ patrols for hours on end and he knew he only had twenty minutes before they patrolled the back yard again. “I have to go.”

“Take me with you.” Paul begged as he crawled up in the window with John. He knew that trying to convince John to stay would be useless, but he didn’t want to be without him. 

“I can’t!” John said. “You have to stay here. Don’t forget that you are the heir to the throne. People know you!” 

“I’ll hide away. Please I hate this castle. I hate being a royalty. I love you.” Paul felt desperate tears bubbling in his eyes. His John was slipping away from him. The boy that caught his heart the first time he had entered the throne room all those months ago. Now he was sitting in his window, ready to leave him for a life that Paul couldn’t have but desperately wanted. 

John stopped breathing for a moment. Paul loved him? Fuck, this was bad. Of course John loved him back, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t allowed to love a prince. None the less if you were a boy yourself. In the moonlight, Paul was absolutely breath-taking. Lips small, eyes drooping and cheeks full. John wanted to take him home, show everyone that Paul was his. He was at loss for words because Paul was beautiful, untouchable. John wanted him so bad. 

“Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you.” John sang softly. “Tomorrow I’ll miss you. Remember I’ll always be true. And then while I’m away. I’ll write home every day, and I’ll send all my loving to you.” 

Paul let a sniffle escape him and he closed his eyes, leaning towards John. The older boy took a shuddering breath and moved a hand from the window frame to softly cup his chin. He moved his lips closer until the electrifying moment when lips touched lips. A shiver sent down John’s spine as he pulled Paul closer with his other arm, keeping his jaw in a vice grip. The younger boy curled his hands into John’s clothes, desperately clutching him like he was going to disappear. 

As John broke them apart, Paul chased his lips, wanting to taste more of John’s musky, nicotine wrecked mouth. John stopped him by pressing his lips to Paul’s forehead. Paul’s eyes burnt with unshed tears and he closed them, a lonely tear escaping down his cheek.

“Princess, don’t cry.” John said and hugged him closer. “It doesn’t suit you. And I need to leave now.” 

“J-Johnny please, please.” Paul whimpered. “I’ll be quiet, I’ll stay with you. I want to be yours and I don’t want anybody else.” 

John kept his lips pressed against Paul’s forehead, listening to his harsh sobs and softened pleas. He could hide Paul away. Maybe they could leave the city, the country. Run off together like in all those sappy movies. His friends wouldn’t mind. They were growing out of that grotty apartment anyway.

“You don’t know me.” John mumbled against his skin. “And you have Jane.”

“I don’t care.” Paul mumbled, tucking his arms in under John’s jacket and wrapping themselves around his waist. “And I don’t care about her, I love you.”

“You’ll have to listen to everything that I say, and you have to hurry.” John said, releasing Paul from his arms. “Get the guitar, let’s go.” 

Paul stopped breathing for a second before his mind kicked back into action and he bounced down from the window. John looked back outside the window, they had ten minutes to climb down now so they really needed to hurry. Paul came back to the window with the guitar strapped to his back. His cheeks were red and his eyes were puffy from tears but he had a look of determination etched onto his face. John smiled lightly and then started climbing out of the window. 

“We have to climb down the drain pipe.” John whispered up to Paul who was now leaning out of the window. The younger nodded and stepped up in the window frame. Slowly he eased himself down next to John on the ledge. 

John inched off towards the drainpipe. His fingers desperately clutching onto the cobbled wall. Paul was right beside him, holding on with his dainty fingers. John reached for the pipe, pulling himself over and onto it. 

“Give me the guitar.” He said and reached out for it. Paul inched towards him until he could hold himself against the drainpipe. With shaking hands he handed the guitar over to John, watching as he slung it over his own shoulder and then started to climb down the pipe. Paul followed him carefully. His heart was racing with fear and anticipation. The rush of running away from home, breaking the rules that he had followed all of his life. Everything was catching up to him and the adrenaline was flowing widely. 

John stayed focus, sliding down the pipe expertly and soon enough his feet hit the ground with a solid thud. He pressed himself against the wall, using the shadows for cover as he looked up to see Paul make the last few meters down. John shook his head, motioning for him to stay silent and then crept along the side of the wall, Paul tight by his side. The sun was setting by now, making the shadows longer and the night’s air chill. Though the darkness was coming rather too quickly for John’s liking and he looked up just in time for a pair of traitorous raindrops to hit his nose. He cursed silently under his breath. 

“The rain is good.” Paul hissed in his ear. “The helmets the guards are wearing? They can’t see anything in the rain, especially not now since its dark.” 

That made John’s mood spike again and he tugged on Paul’s hand, urging him further on. The younger complied and they worked their way towards the gates. Thankfully it stood open, as expected. Food transports usually came during the night, John had learned. The two boys sneaked through the gate and onto the gravelled road outside. Now that they were leaving the dirt and grass, Paul was regretting not bringing his shoes along. As well as he regretted not bringing anything but the shirt he was sleeping in and a guitar. He should have taken money, clothes, shit to sell. 

But none the less he followed John until the older was sure that they were out of the guard’s sight. The city engulfed them in pretty street lights, mesmerizing Paul to say the least. John had to grip his hand again, not quite sure when he let him go. He tugged Paul along, avoiding all the big crowds expectedly. No one needed to see that he was dragging the prince around. Paul followed blindly, head whipping about like an excited puppy, taking in the town scene. Colourful lights were strung up by rope, leaving a glow over the entire town. The path they were walking on was wet cobble with tiny bits of green sticking through. The walls of the buildings were red brick. Not even the rain or cold could bring his mood down. He was out of that damned castle and the best thing about the situation was John. His eyes found the older boy, staring at the back of his head as he pulled him through the rain. He smiled brightly, until a sharp pain shot up through his foot. He gasped, knees buckling. John felt the tug on his hand and he looked back just in time to watch Paul fall to his knees. He frowned and knelt down. 

“What are you doing?” John hissed, moving closer to Paul to hide him from sight, not that there were many people out in the rain but you could never know. The boy let out a pained whimper in reply and gently moved his legs, bringing his feet out from underneath him. Two giant shards of glass were buried deep inside of Paul’s foot and he was bleeding, profusely. “Shit!” 

John stood again and scooped Paul into his arms. He wrapped his arms around John’s neck, pained tears making their way into his eyes. His foot was pounding, waves of pain spreading from the area and up his leg. The older didn’t say anything, he just took off running. 

“It’s not far!” He said. “Just hold on, Paulie.” 

The way John said his name made his heart flutter. No one ever gave him nicknames, no one dared. John had given him two. 

The run back to the apartment only took a few minutes but felt like a lifetime for John. He might be strong but Paul was still heavy and bleeding. Their building looked just like he remembered, run down with the windows either blown out or boarded up tight. John rushed up the rusty fire escape on the outside and practically kicked the door to the third floor open. 

“Who the fuck – WHAT THE FUCK!” Someone yelled but John didn’t have the time. He ran inside and over to his bed. It was untouched, thank god. He laid Paul down on it and ridded himself of the guitar before scouting the room. 

“Ringo!” He yelled. 

“John?” Ringo stepped out of the couch. He was dressed in his typical turtle neck and leather jacket, his hair styled up and those stupid sideburns were getting out of hand. “Fucking hell, mate. Where have you been?” 

“Shut the fuck and help me, he is bleeding!” John barked and the other man threw his hands up before retreating to his bed and pulling out his medical supplies. 

“It hurts.” Paul whined quietly. His voice echoed through the now silent room. Everyone who had been inside the apartment had quieted down and were patiently watching, waiting for an explanation. John sat down on the side of the bed, gripping Paul’s hand between his own and bringing it to his face. He kissed Paul’s knuckles and looked over to see Ringo heading towards them. 

“His foot.” John instructed and Ringo put his stuff down on the bed. He took a rolled up towel and lifted Paul’s foot. He laid it on the roll, efficiently propping it up for what John suspected was surgery. “Is it bad?” 

“Well the glass is stuck in deep.” Ringo said, taking a closer look at the wound. “He’s going to need stitches for sure. I don’t have any morphine to give him either. Keep him busy, yeah?” 

“Who took all the damn morphine?” John yelled, making Paul flinch and hug his hand. He instantly calmed down and looked down to see that Paul was crying, probably from pain. He leaned down and stroked the hair out of Paul’s face. “Take it easy. Ringo knows what he’s doing. It’s going to hurt but just look at me, alright?” 

“He really should bite down on something.” Ringo warned as he readied his pliers and all the stuff he was going to need for surgery. “I don’t have anything though.” 

“My arm.” John said blindly. “Paul I need you to open your mouth, okay?” 

Paul whimpered but obeyed, opening his mouth. He had only been listening with half an ear but he got the premise, he was supposed to bite on something. He could do that. John rolled the sleeve of his leather jacket up and put his arms to Paul’s lips. 

Ringo gripped the top of Paul’s foot and held it tight before gripping the first piece of glass with the pliers. 

“Don’t look, John.” He warned when he caught John staring. The younger obeyed instantly when he noted the serious tone in Ringo’s voice and focused on Paul instead. Ringo wrapped the metallic part of the pliers around the end of the piece of glass. The mere contact made Paul whine and flinch. Ringo took a deep breath and then he pulled. 

Paul’s entire body convulsed in pain and he bit down on the flesh in his mouth, not even noticing the coppery taste as white hot pain flared through him. John managed to catch his wrists with his one loose hand and held them down over his head. Somewhere he could hear someone shuffling towards them and another set of hands landed on Paul’s holding his leg still as Ringo wrapped the pliers around the second piece of glass. His hands were covered in blood as he pulled out the second piece of glass. Paul’s screams came out muffled thankfully. Ringo absolutely hated screaming. He put the pliers away and wiped his hands on the bedsheets so he wouldn’t slip on the needle and thread. He managed to thread the needle without much fault and got to work on stitching the poor boy up. 

Every prick of the needle made more tears slip down Paul’s cheek and let flinches run through his body. The process was excruciating for John who knew that taking Paul along on his escapade was a bad idea, now he was paying the price. Watching his love in so much pain. Thankfully it was over soon and Ringo cleaned the area with alcohol and then wrapped it up with bandage. Once done he stepped back and let John have his moment. He shared a look with Pete who’d come to help. They mutually decided that asking questions at the moment was not a very bright idea. John and Paul were therefore left to their own devices. John released Paul’s wrists and tugged his arm out of Paul’s grip. He was bleeding but he didn’t care. He’d fix that later. Right now all that mattered was Paul who was sweating despite Goosebumps covering his arms and legs. That made John realise that he was also cold from the rain and Paul was almost naked, dressed in nothing but a soaked flannel and underwear. The younger boy sobbed as John unbuttoned his shirt and took it off of him. John wrenched his own jacket off as well before fetching the blankets that he kept under his bed. They were all thick wool, good for winter type of blankets. Perfect for warming a prince. John gently draped the blankets over Paul’s shivering body. 

Once he was sure that his boy was tucked in properly, John undressed himself out of that fucking button up shirt and his annoying slacks. He decided against pants and just put on a white t-shirt instead before crawling in under the blankets with Paul. He didn’t care that all the others gave him odd stares, they knew better than to ask questions. 

“John.” Paul whimpered and his hands found John’s t shirt. The older responded by wrapping his arms around his waist, pulling him closer to his chest. He hushed him quietly, stroking his hair back out of his face. 

“I know it hurts.” He whispered. “I’ll take care of you, alright? I’ll get pain meds and stuff for you. Try to fall asleep now though, alright? I need you to sleep.” 

Paul whimpered but nodded, tucking his face into John’s throat. He closed his eyes, willing the pain to go away. Eventually the adrenaline that he had gotten from the pain ebbed away and left his body too heavy to move, too heavy to think. With a final sigh he managed to fall asleep. John wasn’t far behind.


	3. Trouble in paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's talk about prostitution in this chapter!

John was up first the morning after. The sun was already high so he guessed it was midday when he dragged himself out of bed and put on his jeans. He looked back at Paul who looked way too pure, laying under four layers of blankets in a dirty, rundown apartment. Sadly he didn’t have more time to wantonly stare at his prince as someone rudely came up to him and tugged his arm. He was dragged into another room. The whole apartment had one room that they used as a bedroom, a small bathroom and then a kitchen. Plans had been made to try and break into the fourth floor but they hadn’t gotten too far because John had been rudely snatched away. Now he was being snatched away again and pushed into a plastic chair in the kitchen. All of his mates were already sat around the table, staring at him suspiciously. He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Looks like you all missed me.” John said. 

“Oh sure thing.” Stu said. He was in his designated chair, feet up on the table and a cigarette between his lips. Oh god, John craved cigarettes. He had been without them for months. “Before we get into that we want to know where the fuck you have been and who you came dragging in to the apartment in the middle of the night.” 

“Alright, I was pissing around in the castle yard.” John started, earning a few amused chuckles. “I wanted to see if they really had as many flowers as people said. And whilst I was skipping about some brutes came up and caught me. Then I was locked away in the castle and got to meet the king and the prince…” 

He went on to tell his tale for eager ears, leaving out most details about Paul. They didn’t need to know exactly what he had been up to, and they wouldn’t understand anyway. Too thick in the head, John figured. 

“And then I ran off.” John finished. 

“Never thought someone would ever manage to whip old Lennon into shape.” Ringo muttered to himself and scratched at his enlarged nose. “Still leaves one question though. Who’s your boy?” 

“His name is Paul. Paul McCartney, he is the prince.” John said and George choked on his drink. Stu almost swallowed his cigarette. Pete and Ringo stared at him like he had grown an extra head. John just kept his cool, leaning back into his chair further. “And he’s fucking mine. Hands off.” 

“Are you out of your damn mind?” Pete hissed. “What the hell are you bringing the fucking prince here for? Did you kidnap him?” 

“I’m not stupid.” John grunted. “He followed me, and I told you. He’s. Mine. I’ll do what I want with ‘im and no one will ever find him, got it? He’ll stay here, with us.”

“You are crazy, John.” Ringo muttered. “But fine, you’re the leader.” 

“You can’t be agreeing to this!” Stu threw his arms out, pointing accusingly at John. “He’s putting us all in danger, don’t you fucking see? People will be looking for him and for the little majesty!” 

“No one recognises a rat.” George slurred, his voice even more nasal than usual. “We have done illegal shit before and it’s not like John has actually kidnapped him. If we keep him in here he should be fine.” 

“You are all idiots.” Stu stood out of his chair, slipping his cigarette out from between his lips and pointing it dangerously at John. “He’s on you. Keep him on a tight fucking leash, alright.” 

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do!” John stood up too. He towered over Stu with a good few inches. “Go fuck your girl and leave me and Paul be, got it?” 

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” Stu put his cigarette back between his lips, sending John a glare. “I’m going out.” 

Stu waltzed out of the kitchen. Pete sighed and followed him. They all heard the door slam and a sigh left John’s lips, finally calm. Ringo and George stayed behind, watching John warily. He didn’t care, he just walked out into the living area and over to his bed. Paul was up, he was probably woken up by their voices. The walls were thin after all. 

“Morning, princess.” John said. All the resting tenseness and anger left his body, floating off of him like smoke as Paul looked at him with those dark eyes. He looked like an angel, an angel trapped on earth. 

“I’m still not a princess.” Paul protested weakly. He shifted around carefully so he could lean his back against the wall, letting the blankets cover his lap. “I heard fighting, is everything alright?” 

“It’s all fine.” John sat down next to him on the bed. He gently wrapped his arm around Paul’s shoulders. “I handled it all.” 

“I don’t want to bring you trouble.” Paul said as he scooted closer to John’ resting his head against him. He had heard them talking about him, saying how he was putting everyone in danger. He had also faintly heard John protecting him. Which was heroic and all but Paul really wished that he didn’t have to do that. 

“I love you.” John said softly. The words sounded like a lullaby to him, like they weren’t real but they were and so was Paul, sitting next to him. “You will never give me trouble.”

“I love you too.” Paul breathed, closing his eyes. Their chaste moment of peace was interrupted as two of John’s friends stumbled out into the room. Ringo smirked lightly when he spotted John being all soft and cuddly with his prince. He never thought he’d see the day when John settled down for cuddles. 

George pulled a chair up and sat down, facing the backrest. He leaned his arms on the edge and studied the couple. Ringo did the same but sat the right way around. Paul opened his eyes and looked at them curiously. They both looked like roughed up gangsters, dressed in tight pants and leather jackets. 

“M Ringo, this is George.” The smaller one of the two greeted and nodded towards the boy who Paul assumed was George. He looked awfully young that one, thin as a stick and mouth full with crooked, ugly teeth. His eyebrows took up most of his face and his hair was laying across his head in a fluffy fringe. Paul found he looked adorable. “You must be his young majesty.” 

“Not anymore.” Paul replied quietly. “Just call me Paul, please.” 

“He’s polite.” George said and Paul noted the terrible nasal slur that the boy carried. 

“Are you alright?” Paul asked him, making George raise one of his long eyebrows. “You’re slurring.” 

John laughed at that and Ringo let out a hearty chuckle. George didn’t look to impressed, his face turned mildly sour and Paul wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have said that. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout him.” John said. “His ma dropped him on the head when he was young. Fucked up his speech, you know?” 

“She did not!” George defended. “I speak perfectly fine.” 

“Where’s your bird, George?” John asked to change the subject. “Finally learnt about your erectile dysfunction did she?” 

“Fuck off.” George growled. “She’s downstairs. Been earning her keep all night.”

“The brothel is growing.” Ringo stated. “Crabs told us if business keeps blooming she’ll need our apartment too.” 

“Isn’t her fucking two floors enough?” John asked, ignoring Paul’s confused stare. “Well, where the hell should we go then, huh?” 

“Don’t know.” Ringo shrugged. “It’s been giving me stress lines for weeks.” 

“Wait, wait.” Paul interrupted, catching everyone’s attention. “Who’s Crabs?” 

“That’s the whore who owns the brothel.” John replied and Paul slapped him at his choice of words. “We call her Crabs because her cunt is filled with ‘em. That’s why she doesn’t sell.” 

“John!” He chastised and crossed his arms. George snickered lightly at his discomfort with the way John spoke. 

“Anyroad, painkillers.” John said and gently got out of the bed. “And probably some clothes.” 

He reached under his bed and pulled up his knitted sweater. He usually wore it when it was cold outside and he figured it’d be good for Paul to have since he was practically naked under the blankets. He handed the sweater to the younger boy who eagerly got dressed, covering his naked torso.

“I’ll join you.” Ringo offered. “Someone opened a pharmacy in our district, we can head there to look.” 

“I’ll come too…” George offered but was stopped by John giving him a look. 

“Someone needs to stay behind, especially if the girls come back and wonder who the fuck this is.” John said and nodded towards Paul. Ringo went to collect his jacket from the bed and John reached for a brimmed hat. He shoved that down over his hair and then leaned down to peck Paul’s cheek. The younger boy smiled, leaning into the quick kiss. “Bye, princess. I’ll be back soon.”

Paul blushed bright red at the mention of his nickname and John smirked before heading out with Ringo. George and Paul looked after them, a silence settling over the room as the door closed. The former boy let his eyes swipe over Paul quickly before he looked down at his hands, picking his nails quietly. Paul blinked, turning his head up to stare at the flaky ceiling. Neither knew quite what to say and the silence was deafening. George finally moved and rouse from his chair. He made his way over to his own bed, sitting down on the light brown covers and picking up the guitar which was leaning against the brick wall next to his bed. 

“You play?” Paul asked quietly, looking over at George as he started tuning the guitar. 

“Uh huh.” George replied, eyes downcast. 

“John tried to teach me.” Paul said. “I can take a few chords and he taught me how to play Blue skies.” 

“It’s a good song.” George replied and strummed his guitar, seeing if he had tuned it right. Once he deemed it good enough he started strumming away. Paul sat back and listened quietly. 

“Raunchy.” Paul then said, recognising the tune. 

George’s head snapped to attention and a smile spread across his lips. 

 

John puffed out a big cloud of smoke, feeling the nicotine rush sweetly through his body. The street they were walking down was cramped and maybe not the best place to smoke at but John didn’t give a shit. Now that he was out of the hell-hole castle he’d smoke until his lungs dried out and crumpled from the smoke. Ringo didn’t seem to mind either. He was strolling along, hands deep in his pockets to hide the extensive collection of rings he wore. Those shiny bands had gotten him into a lot of trouble lately since people figured that he was rich instead of small enough to crawl through the ventilation of a jewellery store. The others might joke about his height and frame but they couldn’t crawl through ventilations. 

“What are you planning on doing with him?” Ringo asked, breaking the comfortable silence between them. 

“What’d you mean?” John bit back. “I want him like George wants his bird.” 

“Never figured that you were that queer.” Ringo hummed. “He looks rather different from your usual big boobs type.” 

“I don’t bring home everyone I shag.” John took another drag of his cigarette. “And I’m not queer. I just really like him, no one else.” 

“He’ll bring you trouble.” Ringo sighed. “And I’m sure that there’s other blokes who likes it up the arse as much as he does.” 

“Don’t be like Stu.” John groaned. “We only need one mother hen in the house, and I haven’t fucked him, since you seemed interested.” 

“You haven’t fucked him?” Ringo lifted a hand to scratch at his sideburn. “They really softened you up in that place, John. Bringing boys home and not having fucked them. Calling them princess and everything.” 

John chose not to reply. He couldn’t have the others thinking that he was going soft. Still when George had fallen in love with Pattie he had been fluttering around like a fairy for a good few weeks before finally growing a pair of balls and settling down. The same had happened to Stu. Well, he probably wasn’t as bad as Stu. John shivered at the memory. Poor lad had been writing poetry for his girl for days. At least John could borrow a few lines for a song or two. Maybe being a bit soft was only for a short period of time and maybe he could use it to write some songs. 

He barely realised that they had reached the pharmacy before Ringo tugged him to a stop in front of what looked to be a shack. John felt like if he poked it in the wrong spot it’d come down over his head. 

“Well this looks safe.” He snorted and Ringo rolled his eyes. 

“It’s as good as it’s going to get.” Ringo said and reached for the poor excuse of a door. He opened the door to the building and stepped inside. John followed and felt like he had walked into a wall. The small that lingered inside the store was absolutely fucking awful. It smelled like molten plastic and expired milk. The place was lit up by one naked lightbulb in the middle of the small shop. Bottles of medicine and pills along with various medical equipment was cramped in on narrow shelves along the naked, wooden walls. 

John walked straight to the shelves and started looking at the various bottles, noticing that there were tiny etiquettes on the shelves he leaned closer to read them. Once he had found the right shelf he started looking at the bottles, trying to read the labels. 

“Most of it is morphine.” John said to Ringo who was looking through a box of syringes. “That’s a bit strong.”

John continued looking and chuckled as he found a bottle of whisky amongst the pain medication. He continued looking until he found something that looked like actual pain meds and not drugs. Meanwhile, Ringo had picked up some vacuum packed syringes along with a bottle of morphine and something that John guessed was grass. The man behind the counter was broad with a balding skull and he looked both high and bored as Ringo payed for their items. John shook his head as the shop owner didn’t even notice Ringo ripping him off with quite a lot of money as he bargained the prices. 

 

George and Paul were sat close together on the bed, knees touching and guitars on their laps. Paul had learnt that George was younger than him, his girlfriend’s name was Pattie and he grew up in a small farm house with his three older siblings, mum and dad. He had ran away at the age of fourteen and John had found him, hungry and homeless on the streets. Paul found great interest in talking politics with George since that seemed to be dear to his heart, especially when it came to taxes and public services. 

“You’re not too bad.” George said, eyes focused on his guitar. “John always says that royalty is pompous and stuck up, but you’re nice.” 

“Thanks, I guess.” Paul said, a smile playing on his lips. He was happy, having gained a new friend. A musical friend at that. “You’re not too bad either.”

They shared a grin. A grin that quickly snapped off from George’s face. Like a cat he flicked his head towards the door, just in time to see it open. John and Ringo stepped in, making George relax instantly. That guy must have senses like a cat, Paul thought. He hadn’t heard them coming. 

“We are back!” John let out as he barged through the door. “Oh, are we interrupting something?” 

He and Ringo walked over to the bed that they were sat on. John dumped the bag with all the stuff they had bought and picked out a bottle of aspirin. He handed two pills to Paul who swallowed them gratefully. 

“We also got some breakfast.” Ringo said and pulled out two cans of soup. “I’m sure Stu and Pete will come back for lunch, this will do in the meantime.” 

George took one of the cans and fished out a clasp knife from his pocket. Paul watched, mesmerized as George stabbed the can with his knife, creating a good sized hole. Once he deemed it good enough he removed his knife and put the can to his lips, drinking its content. John had apparently done the same as a can was shoved into his hands. Paul blinked and then put the can to his lips, copying George and frowning when only little dribbled out. He removed the can from his lips and looked over at George who seemed to be taking big gulps before handing it over to Ringo, wiping his mouth. 

“You have to suck.” The smaller instructed and brought the can to his mouth. 

Paul huffed and put the can back to his lips. He sucked at its contents and was surprised when he felt his mouth get filled with viscous liquid. It tasted mildly of beans but mostly sewer. Paul drank anyway, scrunching his nose slightly at the taste. When the taste got too heavy he handed it over to John, complaining by sticking his tongue out and making a ‘bleh’ noise. John chuckled at him and finished the can of soup. 

George was handed the cup again and he used his knife to open it the rest of the way. He dipped his fingers deep inside and pulled out something slimy that looked like strips of meat. He ate them, making Paul cringe slightly at the wet sound of him sucking at the meat like it was pasta. 

“This is the best part.” George said when he noticed Paul’s disgust. “ ‘S like a candy reward.” 

Ringo joined in on the good too, picking up slimy pieces of meat with his fingers. John sat down next to Paul, their legs pressing together, and picked his own knife up. He cut the can up like George had did before and then picked up a piece of meat. He held it to Paul’s lips who blushed but ate it. He didn’t want to be rude after all. And he was glad that he tried it. There wasn’t much taste to the meat, only an incredible salt flavour. He hummed appreciatively and stuck his fingers in the can, fishing for more meat. 

“Well!” Ringo said when breakfast was over and done. George had laid down on the bed, stretching and licking his lips. He looked up at Ringo, watching him as he spoke. “George we should head out and find a pub to play at. People are starting lunch now.” 

“I just ate.” George complained and patted his nearly non existing stomach bulge. 

“So did I.” Ringo said. “Now let’s move it. Pattie will be back when we return, I promise.” 

George huffed, a blush tinting his ears. He sat up and grabbed his guitar before heaving himself off of the bed. Ringo walked over to his bed and collected a pair of drumsticks. They both waved good bye and then headed out. John gazed down at Paul, sat on the bed, letting a smirk play on his lips. Paul noted the mischievous look on his face and cocked his head to the side. The older bent down and curled his arms under Paul’s back and knees, picking him up. Paul let out a squeak that if anyone asked, he’d refused to admit. He quickly wrapped his arms around the other’s neck as he walked out onto the fire escape and ventured up three floor. 

“This used to be a drug den.” John said as he walked into the sixth floor. There wasn’t a door leading into the apartment, just a square hole in the wall. “Until police found out and took this place down. The idiots who had it used a small grenade and blew themselves a way out.”

John carried him over to the blown hole in the wall. It was pretty high up and overlooked the city. Paul curled closer to John, admiring the view. He walked closer to the blown out hole. His shoes gathered most of the dust and crumbled that still covered the floor but he didn’t care. By one of the walls there was a spot clear from all the rubble and residue. Paul figured that someone spent time up here regularly. He didn’t blame them, the view was stunning. John sat down against the wall, holding Paul between his legs. They were right at the edge and below them there was a harsh concrete street. Someone was sitting down there, far below them. A blanket was wrapped around their form and a paper cup was placed in front of them. Paul decided to not look down anymore. Instead he leaned into John’s chest, staring out at the city. The sun was up high, throwing harsh rays of sunlight down on the withered buildings and people who roamed the city. In the distance Paul could make out the shape of the castle, his home that he’d left behind.

“It’s prettier at night time.” John mumbled, a hand escaping to reside in Paul’s hair. “But it beats sitting in the apartment.” 

“What do you usually do during the days?” Paul asked, averting his eyes from the city and looking back at John. He was curious to get to know this side of John. He had mostly seen the quiet, calm or horribly defensive persona of John. A depressed shell of a man. He wondered if John outside of the castle was any different. 

“Sleep.” John said, eyes locking with Paul’s. The eye contact made Paul’s heart flutter and smile gently. He still couldn’t quite grasp that he, a royalty, was sitting in the lap of John Lennon, a boy living on the streets, and they were equal. “Or work, work my ass off to get money to spend on food, girls and alcohol.” 

“Girls?” Paul asked, frowning. “Why’d you spend money on girls?” 

John laughed, a clinging noise which sounded like music to Paul’s ears, even if he was laughing at him. 

“You have a lot to learn.” John said, scratching his fingers gently against Paul’s scalp. “Girls don’t come easy. First off you have to look for someone you are interested in. Once that’s out of the way you either find out how much she costs or buy her a drink. Preferably the former. If you buy her a drink she can still reject you. If you just pay her for the sex she’s more likely to go through with it.” 

Paul could faintly remember his father talking about brothels and prostitute when he was little and had asked him what it was. The older hadn’t wanted to answer it directly so he had gone to Brian asking him and leaving him flustered, having to explain the act of sex as well as what selling sex meant to a curious twelve year old. To say that Paul had been more interested in Jane after that was an understatement. 

“Oh.” Paul managed to reply lamely. “You play music right?” 

“Yep, we have a band. Me, Pete, George and Stu. Ringo helps as an extra drummer but he plays for another band called Rory and the Hurricanes as well.” John continued playing with Paul’s hair idly. “If you getter better at the guitar you can join, maybe.” 

Paul’s face lit up at the promise and he opened his mouth to speak when suddenly, a brutally loud horn echoed through the buildings. He instantly recognised that horn. It was time for one of his father’s messages that he sent out over the city. 

“I have some terrible news to spread.” Paul instantly recognised the sound of his father. John wrapped his arms around the younger boy, pulling him closer to his chest, as if to protect him from the voice. “My son, the heir to the throne has been kidnapped. We think the perpetrator is his servant, John Lennon. Posters will be handed out during the day and if you see either of them. Paul McCartney or John Lennon, return them to the castle immediately. The prince must come unharmed, his kidnapper must only return alive. I will reward the finder with two million pounds.” 

“That’s a hefty amount.” John said with a chuckle. “Should ask Ringo to turn us in, eh? They’d live in luxury!” 

“No way!” Paul said with a frown. “Are you even taking this seriously? My dad is looking for us and he wants you dead!”

“He’s not the only one who wants me dead, Paulie.” John hummed. “I can take it and so what? If he catches me I’ll just escape again.” 

“It’s not that easy.” Paul wrapped his arms around his knees, lip curling in between his teeth. “You won’t be able to just escape again. I’ve seen my dad kill people before. Bad, bad people. But you’re not like that, John. I don’t want you to die.”

John cupped Paul’s chin with one hand, tilting his face up towards him. Paul’s eyes were shiny with tears and his cheeks were getting that pink tint. He sighed, pressing down on Paul’s lower lip with his thumb. The younger boy slowly let his lip away from his teeth. John dragged Paul’s lip down with his thumb before swiping his finger away, letting it rest on the corner of his mouth instead. Paul forgot to breathe for a second and could feel himself calm down.

“I’m not going to die.” John promised. “I’ll keep safe, I promise.” 

John repeated the last phrase. There was a harsh tone in his voice, something that made Paul trust him. He let his own hands slide from John’s waist to his shoulders, staying inside of the leather jacket. John slid down against the wall slowly, Paul following until John was pressed against the floor in the room. He could feel the edge of the floor push into his shoulder and he tugged a leg up as a wall between Paul and the edge. Paul barely noticed, his eyes were stuck on John’s and he gracefully lowered his head, bringing their lips together. Everything was slow, sensual. Paul felt warm from the midday sun and from the heat of John’s body underneath him. The pain in his foot was forgotten as well as the fear from hearing that John could die. All that mattered was that he was there, breathing and heart beating. He felt John’s hands slide over his back, fingering the fabric of his sweater as they kissed. Fingers trailed their way lower and in under his sweaters. Electric, calloused fingertips explored their way up his back, massaging into his skin. Paul sighed, melting into John’s body even more, resting his weight against him. His fingers curled in under John’s shirt, exploring his collarbones. The other hand made its way to his face, thumb resting against the hard line of his jaw and fingers splaying out over his cheek. John’s hands slid further up his shirt, exposing his back to the sun. Paul hummed into John’s mouth, parting his lips slightly. John took the small opportunity and slipped his tongue into Paul’s mouth. The younger let out a shallow moan, feeling John exploring his mouth. He licked the roof of Paul’s mouth before moving to tangle with his tongue instead. 

Paul’s fingers gripped John’s collar, bunching it up in his fist. He could feel every little press and slide of John’s fingertips against his heated skin. 

John ended the kiss way too soon and Paul laid his head down on his chest, a small pout on his lips. He noted him John didn’t pull his hands out from his shirt, he kept them up there, casually running his thumbs down Paul’s spine. The younger boy wanted to purr and he pushed his head in under John’s chin, looking out over the city again. 

“John?” Paul then mumbled, earning a sleepy hum as a reply. “What were you fighting about this morning?” 

“Stu was being an ass.” John huffed. “That’s all there is to it. They didn’t want you to stay here but I’m the leader. I have the final say and you don’t need to care about them.” 

“John!” Paul flew up from John’s body, sitting up on his hips. John pushed himself up on his elbows and watched as Pete came in through the doorframe. He leaned against the side, catching his breath for a few seconds before speaking up again. “Did you hear the radio?” 

“The whole bloody city hears the radio.” John grunted. “What’s your point?” 

“The point is that your face is everywhere.” Pete said and dug his hand into his pocket. He fished out a crumpled up poster. 

John squinted his eyes at the poster and then saw that it was a crude drawing of his face. 

“They must have confused me with Ringo, my nose is not that big.” John huffed and sat up properly, wrapping an arm around Paul’s waist. “If they have a poster looking like that, no one will find me.” 

“You should come down anyway. The girls are here now and so is dinner.” Pete continued, stuffing the poster back into his pocket. 

“Alright, we’re coming.” John said and gently eased himself up. Paul got up as well, balancing himself against John. Pete turned back to the fire escape and climbed downstairs, leaving the pair alone. John put his arms under Paul’s back and knees, efficiently picking him up again. “You’re not walking.” 

“I can walk, John!” Paul complained as John started to carry him downstairs. 

“No, you’re hurt.” John retorted. “And I’m taking advantage of it.” 

Paul huffed, crossing his arms. He could hear loud voices coming from the apartment already and they had a floor to go. How many people could they press into that little apartment? Shit, Paul wasn’t wearing trousers and he was about to meet a bunch of people. John didn’t seem to mind as he opened the door and stepped inside. Paul hid his face against John’s chest.


	4. Shot from the sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, thank you for all the lovely comments. Makes my day reading 'em! This chapter will contain blood and the story starts to pick up a bit more. I hope you like it!   
> (And there's Starrison)

“John!” A choir of squealing voices echoed. Said young man sent them a charming smile and walked over to the couches in the middle of the room. There was a coffee table in the middle, covered in alcohol, drugs, cigarettes and various food that had been scraped together. John squeezed down between George and Ringo on one of the couches. Paul slipped down next to him. John took off his jacket and laid it over Paul’s lap before reached for the food on the table. 

“Hello, Paul.” George greeted, nodding at him. There was a cute, blonde girl sat on his lap. Paul assumed that the girl was Pattie who George had been going on and on about. 

“Hi.” Paul greeted back and smiled as John handed him a plate with bread, fruit and pieces of fried fish on it. He dug in with his fingers since that seemed to be what everyone else were doing. 

“So this is Paul?” One of the girls spoke up. She was sitting next to Stu, a cigarette between her lips. Her hair was also blonde, but short, really short. 

“He’s adorable.” Pattie filled in and leaned over both George and John to pinch his cheek. 

Paul blushed, ducking his head down and deciding to not reply. 

“Oh, he’s shy too!” Pattie cooed, leaning back into George’s arms. “A real darling.”

John grinned and wrapped an arm around Paul. The younger instinctively leaned against him, continuing to eat his food. 

“I think that’s enough. His head will pop if we make him blush more.” Stu teased. He had a beer bottle in his hand and he took a swig before continuing to talk. “I heard you’re wanted, Lennon. And wanted alive.” 

“He wants me dead by his own sleazy hand.” John said and held up his own hand as if to demonstrate. “Greedy bastard.” 

“Yeah everyone should get a hold of your neck, he can’t have it all to himself.” Stu chuckled. 

“Git, you sleep with me. You have all the chances in the world.” John replied. 

“Well I need me beauty sleep. Can’t waste it on murder.” Stu dragged a hand through his hair, smirking. 

“Then what are you wasting it on? Because you clearly need some more.” John watched in satisfaction as Stu’s confident grin fell. The others burst out laughing.

Paul eased into the mood, but it took him some time. They were all fast and witty, even the girls had a special sarcastic charm to them. He spent his time eating whatever came his way as well as sneaking food from John’s plate. The other was too busy sassing Ringo to notice most of the times and if he did catch Paul sneaking food from his plate he’d poke his side or nip his ear playfully. Ringo ended up talking to him a lot since he couldn’t really keep up with the pace that Stu and John were throwing insults at. He told Paul about his drums, his childhood (which Paul found really sad). Apparently Ringo had been a very, very sickly child and all the family’s money had gone to his hospital bills until they couldn’t afford them anymore. Ringo had been forced to stay inside for years, with his drum-kit which he had received for his seventh birthday. He learnt how to take care of himself when he got sick, thus earning an expertise on various medical treatments and medicines. When he was fifteen the family was so deep in debt and Ringo was deemed healthy enough so they sent him away to a work camp outside the city. He ran away and found himself in a band called Rory and the hurricanes. He had played around the same clubs as John and soon he had been noticed by the other lad. John had come up to him one night, offering some roof over his head if he could play when Pete was off. Ringo who had been living on the streets agreed immediately. 

“Let’s get serious for a second.” Stuart then said. He had a lit a cigarette sometime during the conversation and his arm around the girl sitting next to him (Paul had found out that she was called Astrid) had slipped lower. “We should do something to hide the two of you.” 

“Have you seen me poster?” John scuffed, arm tightening around Paul’s shoulders and bringing him closer. “It’s shit.” 

“What about Paul then?” Stuart asked. His eyes found Paul’s and he held a harsh stare. “People will recognise him.” 

“I have an idea.” Astrid said softly and wormed her way out of Stu’s arms. “Come on, sweetie. Pattie will you help me?” 

Astrid held her hand out for Paul who carefully accepted it and stood up on one foot. Her hand was soft in his, much softer than John’s and the change felt strange. It felt like he was holding hands with Jane again. He looked back at John, making a nervous face. He didn’t quite trust the girls and he wanted John to come with him. The older boy leaned back into the couch, clearly amused and not in the mood to help him. Bastard… 

Astrid put an arm around Paul’s back, supporting him so he didn’t have to step on his bad foot. Like that they made their way to the small bathroom that the apartment had to offer. Pattie lead the way, opening the door for them as well as closing it behind the three of them. Paul could vaguely hear Pete say something along the lines of “Poor lad,” and “girls” before the door closed completely, shutting out the sound. Astrid helped him sit down on the closed toilet lid. 

Having three grown people in a bathroom that barely fit one was uncomfortable to say the least but Astrid and Pattie didn’t seem to mind having to be pressed together. Paul pressed his knees together and looked up at them, careful to keep his eyes on their faces and not where Pattie’s skirt was riding up her leg or where Astrid’s shirt was cut extra low. He was pretty sure that George and Stu would kill him if he took a peek, if the girls ratted him out that was. 

“You’ll need to grow it out more.” Astrid said, mostly to herself Paul supposed because the words didn’t mean anything to him. “But we’ll work with it for now. Pattie can you do the water brush thing?” 

“Of course.” Pattie squeezed past Astrid towards the sink and opened the mirror cabinet. She picked out a hairbrush and placed it under the sink, running water over it. “Want me to pat his hair down completely?” 

“Down?” Paul asked. “What are you going to do with my hair?” 

He covered his precious teddy quiff with his hands. To get this hairstyle he had argued with his father for hours, days. Before he had had short hair, slicked back into a neat hairdo. When he as a teen had seen other teenagers his age wear the typical quiff like hairstyle he had wanted it as well, therefore started a mini-war with his father. 

“We are giving you a new style.” Astrid said and moved to lean against the door as Astrid finished wetting the brush and moved to stand in front of Paul. “Trust me, you’ll like it. 

“Alright.” Paul sighed. He didn’t want to argue with them, didn’t dare really. He felt like he would lose anyway so he lowered his hands and gulped as Pattie bent over and got to work on combing through his hair. 

Paul usually hated when people fucked with his hair but with Pattie leaned over like she was now to reach Paul’s hair he didn’t mind. She was wearing some sort of blouse with a short leather jacket over it. The blouse was cut low and with the way she was standing allowed Paul to have a perfect view of the top of her breasts. He could feel his face heat up and he pressed his legs together more. Pictures of Pattie on a bed with his hands under her shirt appeared in his mind and he felt dirty, knowing that she was George’s girl, but he couldn’t help it. 

Thankfully for Paul, Pattie redid her position, dropping to her knees in front of him instead. She stood on her knees, lip between her teeth and hands deep inside of his hair. Paul let a slightly relieved exhale leave his lips and he tried to force his thoughts away from her and towards grosser things. For some reason the only picture that entered was Stu. It worked though, Paul came to find. 

 

“What do you think they are doing to him?” Ringo asked, eyes on the bathroom door. The room had gone mostly silent since the girls had left with Paul. 

“Probably sissying him up.” Pete said, tilting his head back and blowing out smoke towards the ceiling. “Putting him in a dress and tacky makeup.” 

George rose from his position on the couch and stretched lightly, long limbs popping in and out of place. He sneaked towards the bathroom on his sock clad feet. 

“What are you doing?” Ringo asked him. 

“I’m going to listen.” George explained softly as he reached the door. He kneeled down, pressing his ear to the door lock, listening to see if he could hear anything. 

The boys left on the couches shared a glance before all of them got up, copying George by taking their shoes off and then tiptoeing over to the door. Ringo leaned down against George, pressing his ear to the wooden surface. Stuart sneaked in under John, pressing his ear up next to his. Pete was smarter than all of them and peeked through the keyhole. John frowned at him and gave him a little push before bending down and peeking through the keyhole himself. Pete opened his mouth to protest but four instant angry glares shut him up. They didn’t want to be caught with their pants down, listening through the door. John turned back to the keyhole and peeked through. At first he couldn’t see anything but soon enough he could make out Astrid’s back towards him. He shifted slightly, accidently pressing a knee into George’s side and earning a pained huff. He made no move to change his position, instead he took in the new view on George’s expense. 

Pattie was standing on her knees by Paul’s legs and she was combing his hair down. Astrid had found their shitty hairdryer and was plugging it in. Soon enough the terrifyingly loud sound of the hairdryer blasted through their ears. All eyes turned towards John with a frown. Stu mouthed ‘what the hell’ at him. 

“The hairdryer, idiot.” John hissed back, continuing to stare through the loophole. Pattie had moved away now and he could see Astrid moving the hairdryer around in Paul’s hair as well as combing it. Were they honestly doing his hair? What good would that do? 

“That’s so cute!” Pattie suddenly squealed as the hair dryer turned off again. “Oh my god, yeah Astrid you are a genius!” 

“What?” Paul asked and John could see him stand up, supporting himself against the sink. He leaned over it to look at himself in the mirror. The flannel he was wearing rode up and his pants stretched tight over his rounded behind. John felt his blood rush south. “What did you do? I look so different!” 

“Do you like it?” Pattie asked, earning a shy affirmative from Paul. “Amazing, let’s show the others.” 

The boys outside shared a panicked expression before scurrying over to the couches, tripping and slipping in their socks. John and Pete managed to throw themselves back into their seats just as the door opened. The others weren’t so lucky. Stu was almost in his original place. He had tried to throw himself into the sofa, only to miss and land on the rug next to it. Poor Ringo had gotten caught in George’s clawed hands when he had tried to move up from the floor and run past him, thus sending them both into a heap of leather jackets and a mess of limbs of the floor. A short squeal of surprise escaped him as his feet gave in under him. George followed down with a grunt. 

Ringo blushed when he caught himself with George on top of him. Their noses pressed dangerously close together, legs tangled into oblivion. He had one of George’s long legs pressed against his crotch and George’s hands on his body, one over his head and the other on his upper arm, gripping him tight, probably from the shock of suddenly tumbling to the concrete ground covered by a thin rug. George was breathing heavily onto his face and Ringo knew that he should pull away. This was wrong on so many levels but he couldn’t seem to give a fuck. George’s eyes were deep, harsh, his eyebrows knitting together and forming into an even worse unibrow than before.

“Are we interrupting something?” Astrid’s voice rang through his ears. Instinctively George pushed himself up from Ringo and the noise of laughter reached them. The boys on the couches were laughing at them stumbling like idiots. Ringo scooted away with one last look at George who brushed himself off and stood, ears red like peppers. “Were you listening through the door?” 

She and Pattie shared a look of disbelief and crossed their arms. Astrid tapped her foot, waiting for an answer. Her eyes were mostly on Stu who was carefully falling back into the couch trying to not make it obvious that he had just skidded across the floor and into the brown leather couch. 

“Pfft, no.” George let out sheepishly. “I was just checking the floor for bugs.” 

“Yeah, beetles, actually.” Ringo chimed in. “Thought I saw one of those buggers crawl across here.” 

“Sure.” Astrid said and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Anyway! Are you ready to see the new and improved, Paul McCartney?” 

Pattie bit her lip and clasped her hands together, mouth curving into an excited smile. Ringo and George moved back to the couch, sitting down so they wouldn’t cover the other’s sight. John leaned forth, balancing his elbows on his knees. The girl shared a look and then then stepped out of the doorway, exposing Paul who had been bent down slightly to cover behind the girls. 

“What did you do?” John asked with an impressed frown. It looked like they had changed the fucking shape of Paul’s face! His hair was laying down across his forehead and fluffed up like the top of a mushroom. A perfect bowl shape and the thing was framing his face nicely, making it look fuller and rounder. 

“Aww, they dolled him up!” Stu cooed from his place on the couch. “Yeah that should cover him for a while. Put him in a dress and lipstick and he’ll just be another of John’s lasses.” 

John ignored him and got out of the couch. He took long strides over to Paul, wanting to get a closer look at his new haircut. Paul smiled carefully at him and reached out to wrap his arms around John’s waist when he was close enough, pulling him closer. John put his hands in Paul’s hair, running his fingers through the soft locks gently. 

“D’you like it?” Paul asked softly. 

“It’s nice.” John hummed, and leaned in to peck Paul’s eyebrow. “Makes you look pretty.” 

“Pretty!?” Paul let out, scandalised at having that word thrown at him. 

The night ended when Pete and Ringo left for some club and Astrid and Stu fucked off to find somewhere to shag. They had tried to escape into the kitchen but George who’d been stuffing the left over’s from dinner into the fridge had angrily shooed them out. After that the remaining couples had retreated into bed. George and Pattie cramped up in one single bed and John and Paul in the other. 

“I love you.” Paul whispered, moving so he could press his lips to John’s for a short kiss. 

“I love you too, princess.” John mumbled, wrapping his arms around Paul’s naked waist and pulling him closer. “I’m glad you came with me.” 

Paul fell asleep with a smile on his face, listening to John’s deep breaths and the occasional wet kissing sound coming from the other bed. 

 

Ringo had been left alone at the bar, it wasn’t the first time either and now he was almost grateful for the fact that Pete had other friends to attend to that he fancied over Ringo. It gave him time to think. He let his mind wander back to the apartment, to George. His stomach fluttered at the thought of the young man, sunken cheeks, big eyebrows and big mouth. Oh, was he gorgeous… Ringo found himself smiling slightly and took a sip from his beer to try and hide the fact that he was smiling like a lunatic. Before John had asked him to come drum for the quarrymen the first band member Ringo had spoken to was George. Sweet, quiet little George. Soon enough Ringo had found out that George wasn’t quiet, not at all. He could talk and talk for hours, not really needing any response and Ringo could listen. He would listen as long as he could watch George’s face lit up at the fact that someone was actually listening to him. Ringo shook his head lightly. This was all wrong, he wasn’t queer. But George. What was wrong with it anyway? John had Paul, why couldn’t Ringo have George? Because he had Pattie obviously, and they were happy... The smile that had appeared on his face was wiped off and he took another heavy swig of his beer. Fuck it, fuck it all. 

Once the bottle was empty he had made his way onto the dancefloor. Normally he didn’t dance much, especially not with girls, if he got any. But right now he needed to take his mind of things so he had gone looking for a bird who’d share her bed with him. Thankfully a pretty little brunette had latched onto him, her arm around his neck and his hands on her hips. She was pretty, big dark eyes, wide mouth and sharp cheekbones. Her hair was long and her body curvy. Ringo let himself dance closer to her than usually accepted. She just tossed her hair out of her face and wrapped him tighter against her. 

He ended up following her home to her small apartment. Ringo was quick to throw her onto the nearest bed and undress her, his clothes followed and he allowed his mind to fully drift away from George as he sank into her warm heat. 

 

Paul woke up a few days later, alone but with clothes laid across his legs. He rubbed the sleep away from his eyes and scouted the room for any signs of intelligent life. Whilst he didn’t find that, he saw Stu knocked out on the couch, a half empty bottle of whisky in one hand and his trousers gone. Paul scoffed at the miserable sight of him. Astrid was nowhere to be found either. He must have fallen asleep on her last night, poor girl. None of the other inhabitants were present, making Paul sigh gently before looking back at the pile of clothes that someone had placed on his lap. Probably the girls, they had been talking for days about how Paul needed clothes. He agreed with them, he did need clothes. He had been living on John’s severely limited supply of clothing for far too long. He gently picked up the first item, a white tshirt. Underneath the shirt there was a pair of jeans and a new pair of underwear. Paul had never been so grateful for a pair of pants before but now he almost wanted to cry, seeing the flimsy piece of white fabric. He grabbed the clothing and did as George usually did when changing underwear. They weren’t exactly shy about their bodies, any of them but sometimes things called for privacy. He laid down on the bed properly again and slipped his hands and the new underwear underneath the blankets. He shimmied down the old pair that he was wearing and messily kicked it off with his feet before slipping on the new pair. 

When that ordeal was out of the way he slipped the tshirt on as well as the jeans. Someone had guessed his size right thankfully. He went back to exploring the other items of clothing, finding another tshirt, along with a thin turtle neck and a pair of leather pants and a pair of sandals. The others wore heavy boots mostly. They must cost a fortune though and Paul had learn that money did not come easy in this part of the world. Three meals a day was a luxury and had to be worked hard for. These clothes looked new and he imagined that they had worked their asses off to get them, thus having to spend less on shoes for him. Not that he minded, he didn’t do much walking anyway and if he did he hopped around on crutch that Ringo had found (stolen) from him. 

He swung his legs out of the bed, looking down at his bandaged foot. Ringo had changed his bandage yesterday to clean white ones and made sure that he was healing nicely, which he was thankful for. Paul stood up on his good foot and reached for his crutch. He leaned against it and made his way to the kitchen. 

“Fucking hell, McCartney.” Stu groaned from the couch. “How much fucking noise can you make? I’m sleeping.” 

His blood ran hot as Stu spoke up. He was sure that the other man held a grudge against him and was out to make his life horrible. Whilst everyone else had warmed up to him, Stu had been an asshole, not that Paul was very nice back. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Paul bit sarcastically. “Get earplugs then you fucking alcoholic.” 

“What’s gotten you sultry?” Stu groaned and sat up, dragging his body against the arm of the couch for leverage. “Did John not fuck you properly last night?” 

“Well it surely looks like you didn’t.” Paul said with an evil smirk. “Poor Astrid, huh?” 

“Don’t fucking talk about her!” Stu flipped him off and got out of the couch. Paul sensed danger and hopped his way to the kitchen, making extra noises just to annoy the already pissed of boy in the living room. He could hear Stu groan and then run out of the apartment. Paul hoped that he forgot to do his pants up. With that happy thought, Paul opened the fridge and found a box of left over ramen from yesterday. He picked it out and used the plastic fork that had been left inside to finish it off. He closed the fridge and put the empty cartoon on the countertop before hopping back out to the living room. Now what to do? Sighing tiredly he made his way back to bed and picked up his guitar. John’s guitar that usually leaned on the wall next to his was gone. He was probably out making money then. Paul wished he could go out and play with him, or get out of the house at all. That’d be nice. He sat down on the edge of the bed and put the crutch away, changing it for the guitar which he laid across his lap and strummed it to make sure that it was nicely tuned. After that he set to playing, practising the chords that George had worn into his brain and fingers. Since he had not much else to do but play on his damn guitar he had gotten surprisingly better at it over time. He could do a few songs, mostly the ones that John wrote. Maybe he could write his own song? That’d be one way to spend his time. 

 

The afternoon gig had gone well for Ringo. He had aced it and even gotten a pat on the back from Rory for it. George had hung back in the club that they played at and watched him. He was sitting in one of the booths when Ringo had found him, two tall glasses of cheap beer on the table. Ringo smiled as one of the glasses were pushed towards him and he grabbed it, bringing it to his lips. 

“Great set.” George said, eyes shifting out towards the dancing crowd. “Bit of a boring crowd though.” 

“It’s afternoon.” Ringo replied. “Crowds are always shit between rush hours.” 

“That’s true.” George nodded his head and took a sip from his beer. “Pattie is working tonight.” 

Both Pattie and Astrid worked at the brothel that was housed a floor down from their apartment. George absolutely hated it and he was always annoyed and irritated when she was working, sulking with his guitar more often than not. Ringo let out a kind ‘ouch’ as support and leaned over to pat the other on his shoulder. 

“I’m just scared she’ll catch something.” George muttered, leaning his head into his hand. “There’s so many diseases going around. Or worse if she gets pregnant and the baby isn’t mine. I tell her all the time that she shouldn’t work there but she isn’t budging.” 

“Well you can’t control her.” Ringo argued and George made a face. “If she wants to work as a whore then let her. Strong independent women and all that.” 

He finished his speech with another sip of his beer. George copied him, having done half of his beer already. That was another thing. If Pattie was gone, George drank at an alarming rate. Not that Ringo blamed him. He drank at alarming rate whenever George was out and making the town dangerous without him. 

“Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to be queer.” George then mumbled, out of the blue. Ringo blinked. “Don’t get me wrong. I love girls, they are pretty and soft but I wonder what it’d be like to have a bloke. Not one of those dolled up lads in shorts at the brothel. A real man, muscle, side burns and aftershave. I’m just curious.” 

Ringo was speechless. This was George, straight as a pole, Harrison who’d almost retched the first time they’d seen John on his knees in an alley, having bought one loose hooker from a pub. Ringo and George had followed them out of the pub because seeing John exit with a thin, blonde lad was a new sight. They hadn’t really known what to expect but John on his knees in front of him was not on their list. George hadn’t shut up for an hour after that. 

“Really?” Was all Ringo managed to let out. His eyes shifted from George’s eyes down to his thin lips and then back up again, once again admiring how handsome the young man was.

“Yeah, really.” George replied, finishing his beer. He eyed Ringo’s glass questioningly, it was still half full. Ringo waved his hand and George gratefully took the glass, putting it to his lips. “I mean if Pattie gets to have sex with different men every night then shouldn’t I?” 

“I’m not sure about that.” Ringo said carefully. He didn’t accidently want to be a victim of George’s occasional terrible temper. “She does it for work.” 

“Well then I’ll sign me arse on the line and get money.” George spat, his accent getting slightly blurrier with the alcohol. “Someone has to be desperate ‘nough to take me for a shag, right?” 

“Yeah, of course.” Ringo found himself saying, not realising that the words had tumbled out of his mouth before it was too late and George’s dark eyes were on him. “I mean, there’s a lot of queers around, and you’re handsome.” 

“You think I’m handsome?” George asked and Ringo wanted to punch himself. How the fuck was he going to get out of this situation? 

“Yeah.” Ringo admitted, trying to pull it off with confidence. “With the amount of lads and lasses staring at you when you pass them you must be.” 

George sagged back into his seat, taking a few gulps of his beer. A tense silence settled over them and Ringo went to fiddle with his rings, waiting for George to finish his beer so he could leave. God damn the queer part of his brain that wanted to bring George into a bathroom stall and fuck him until he couldn’t remember his name. 

“Would you shag a guy?” George then asked. Ringo gave a nod at that. George had already admitted to wanting to fuck another man. Hell to it, he’d agree too. “Would you do me?” 

Ringo looked up at George, feeling his heart stop. The guitarist was looking at him like an animal watching its prey. He looked like he wanted to eat him. Ringo gulped. 

“Yeah.” He breathed and that seemed to be all that George needed. He stood up and gripped Ringo’s wrist tugging him along. The drummer followed him out of the pub and into the setting sun. George rushed down the street, looking into all the alleys to find somewhere private. No such luck, with the sun still up and people wandering about still there was no chance to find anywhere remotely closed off where they could get down and dirty. 

Ringo blinked a few times as George came to a sudden stop. He stepped out from behind him and noticed that there were a bunch of police officers roaming the streets. George glanced down at Ringo with a questioning look. Ringo shrugged. Seeing one or two police officers were alright, a pretty usual sight but something must have happened for there to be about five to ten of them. 

“There he is!” A sudden voice called. A gruff police officer came marching towards them. Oh shit, no, no, no! George frowned and Ringo quickly tugged on his arm, urging him to get a move on. That seemed to snap George out of it and realize that the officer, for some odd reason, was out to catch them. They ran back the way they came from, pushing past the crowd of people that had gathered. 

“What’s going on?” George yelled. 

“Don’t know!” Ringo answered, heart hammering like a brass band in his chest. 

He felt his hand slipping on George’s sweaty wrist and he grabbed onto his hand instead. The younger’s fingers wrapped around his, hugging tight as they ran, feet pounding into the cobbled street. Apparently the police officer that had spotted them wasn’t alone and had grabbed back up. Suddenly a police car slid past them and skidded to a halt, turning itself so it blocked Ringo’s and George’s path. Ringo swore under his breath and did a sharp left, sprinting in on a narrow backstreet. He could heard his own racing heartbeat as they ran. 

Suddenly George’s heavy breathing in his ear was interrupted by a ringing gun shot and his breathing turned to a scream. Ringo’s heart stopped as he felt George’s grip on his hand loosen up. The taller boy’s fingers slipped out of his, the sweat making it hard for Ringo to hold onto him as he lost the connection he had with his friend.

Ringo looked back to see George sink to his knees, eyes wide open and hand clutching his shoulder. Blood was welling up underneath his fingers, dripping down the front of his tshirt. Ringo could see the police officers in the distance, closing in on them. This wasn’t happening. George’s body twitched and he sat back on the ground. No, no, no. Ringo took a few careful steps towards George who already was looking pale, too pale. 

“RINGO FUCKING RUN! LIVE!” George screamed, his voice hoarse. The young boy picked up a stone from the ground and chugged it at him. The stone clunked against Ringo’s forehead and George fell to the ground. The police were closing in more so Ringo ran, leaving the youngest member behind. 

“We got you now Lennon!” Ringo could hear the officers say as he disappeared onto another street.


	5. Shot through the dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellu! Here's another chapter. Please comment your opinion on it.

Ringo had never in his entire life ran as fast or as long as he did now. His head was spinning, heart racing but his mind was on one thing only. George, George, George and if that meant running a lap around the entire world, then he’d run two. 

By the time he reached the apartment he felt like he was going to faint. God he hoped that Pattie wasn’t in, he found himself thinking as he climbed the notorious stairs. It felt like he was climbing the Eiffel tower and when he was finally up the world was spinning before his eyes. It took him two tries to even find the door knob. Once he finally gripped it he used all his weight to slam the door open, stumbling inside and seeing John, Paul and Stu on one of the sofas, playing cards. John instantly stood up and marched over to him, just in time as well because as soon as John touched him he collapsed against the singer. 

“Ringo, mate?” John asked, his voice rising in alarm. He wrapped his arms around Ringo’s waist holding him up and dragged him inside. Ringo was catching his breath, vision turning black every now and then. The adrenaline was leaving his body, leaving an empty shell of a person behind. “You are bleeding, what the hell happened?” 

Ringo felt his back hit one of the hard mattresses and he felt his eyes roll back into his head. 

When he woke up again it was because someone dabbed cold water on his forehead. He groaned quietly and tried to move away from the offending liquid. Somewhere above him he could hear someone say “He’s awake,” or something along the lines of “he alright?” Ringo wanted to reply that he was alright and that they shouldn’t worry about him when George was out there. Oh, he had to tell them about George. His eyes felt like bricks as he opened them and blinked in the light. Someone was leaning over him and this someone raised a hand and then it came down sharply against his cheek. 

“John!” He heard someone yell in the background. Ringo couldn’t tell who it was but the slap jerked him awake and he sat up, gasping for breath. His head was spinning and he laid back down again, eyes open and slowly focusing on John and Pete who were looming over him. When had Pete arrived? Ringo wasn’t sure how long he’d been out for. George was probably in trouble, if he wasn’t dead already. A horrible sick feeling settled into the pit of his stomach. For all he knew George could be dead and he was relaxing in bed. 

“Ringo are you with us?” That was Pete talking to him. He slowly looked up at Pete who had pressed himself in between Stu and John. Paul was by Ringo’s feet at the end of the bed, his legs crossed and a worried expression on his round face. 

“Yeah.” Ringo breathed. “George.” His words stopped, getting caught in his throat. A burning pain settled on his eyelids and he closed them in fear of crying. He didn’t want to cry in front of the lads. He had to be strong, for George so he cleared his throat with a rough cough. “George, he. He got shot.” 

An eruption of WHAT’s echoed through the room. Someone gripped his shoulders, shaking him. Ringo let him, it allowed for the disturbing image of George falling to his knees, blood seeping out between his fingers and eyes wide open in dying panic, to blur away.

“And you left him?” Paul spoke through the panic. 

“Police took him.” Ringo whispered, barely audible. “They thought he was you.” 

Ringo looked up at John, tears brimming his eyes. John’s face dropped in shock. The whole room silenced with the weight of realisation. All eyes went to John, searching their leader on answers on what to do. 

“We have to tell Pattie.” Stu spoke up before him. “She has to know.” 

“Let her finish work first.” Pete argued. “Is George..? Y’know?” 

He didn’t dare to say it, didn’t want to bring light upon the situation. Ringo didn’t want to hear those words either. 

“I don’t know.” Ringo replied, curling in on himself. The bed felt massive and he felt cold. He wanted George to be there, hold him and tell him that it’d be alright. His eyes lingered on the door, wishing for the lanky boy to waltz through like usual, a sultry look on his face and his hands deep down in his pockets. “I ran, George threw a stone at me and I ran.” 

George’s final act, one of desperate kindness. It must have hurt, having been shot through the chest and having to lunge a stone even if it was only a few meters. A shiver ran down his spine. Live. The last word that fell from his lips. Did he know that he was dying? Ringo started shaking and a few tears fell from his cheeks. 

“Shit, what the fuck do we do?” Paul ran his hands through his hair, tugging at it desperately. “I mean he’s not you. They have to realise that, right?” 

“Won’t do any fucking good if he’s dead, Paul.” John’s tone was hard but calm as he picked out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He picked one of the sticks up and put it to his lips, lighting it. 

“He’s not dead.” Paul snapped. “Don’t you fucking dare say that he’s dead.” 

“Well he got shot and he didn’t come back.” John said. “Look, people die. That’s life, alright? George was a fucking fantastic guitarist and an amazing lad all around but if he’s gone, he’s gone.”

“Don’t you dare speak about him as if he is already dead!” Paul stood up, standing on his bad foot without a care in the world. “He could very well be alive! It’s George!”

“He’s only human!” John retorted and stepped up to Paul. “And humans die, that’s the end of it. We ain’t much more likely to survive a gunshot than a ratty old dog. Being human doesn’t make you immortal. Grow up.” 

With that John stormed out of the apartment, making a statement by throwing the door shut behind him. Stuart sighed and rubbed his face with one of his hands. Paul blinked a few times and sat down on the bed. 

“How can he be so heartless?” Paul breathed. “All we need is a little hope, right?” 

“Give him a rest.” Stuart muttered. “John’s mother died before his eyes. She got hit by a car and he watched her body get flown across the street, like a ragdoll. So he’s right you know? We are only human, we can’t survive on hope.” 

“I can!” Paul managed to squeeze out of himself. “I believe in hope and you can push it up your asses. George is still alive. I haven’t seen him dead yet.” 

“Paul..” Pete tried but Paul wasn’t having it. 

“I’m going out.” Paul snapped and grabbed his crutch. With that he made his way out of the door and up the fire escape. It took him a while, having to take everything one step at a time due to his crutch but he had managed a technique. He walked through the empty doorframe and instantly spotted John sitting against the wall, smoking a cigarette and watching the lights from the city. He was dressed in his complete leather gear and his hair was done up. John looked dangerous. A part of Paul wanted to turn around, walk somewhere else but his heart wished for John. So his heart won and he slowly made his way towards him, as if approaching an animal. The mouth lash that John had given him earlier seemed to make sense, considering John’s mother died the way she did. He dropped the crutch and sank to his knees, crawling into John’s arms, the familiarity and warmth calming him down. The older put his cigarette out against the floor and threw the butt down the side of the building before bundling Paul up in his arms. He held him close, pushing his face into Paul’s fluffy hair. 

“It should have been me.” John whispered. “They shot him because they thought he was me. Christ, your father whipped for pissing about in your yard. What will he do to George?” 

“Brian’s there.” Paul promised, and toed his sandals off before pushing his feet in under John’s shin, keeping them warm. “He’ll take care of him.” 

“I hope that you’re right.” John hummed and moved his face out of the fluffy mop-top. He rubbed Paul’s side gently, his fingers tracing the faint buckles of his ribs. “I love you, so much.” 

“I love you too.” Paul sat up straight and kissed him, deep and slow. John pushed back into the kiss, encouraging Paul down on his back. The prince obeyed, laying back and moaning as John kept up with his pace and laid down over him. He enclosed Paul with one arm and one leg against the ledge, feeling the concrete press against him. A rush of being so close to falling down six floors to a certain death was making his heart race. His loose hand slipped in under Paul’s shirt as they kissed and he stroked his fingers over Paul’s soft, round belly and up towards his chest. Paul responded with a moan and his hands coming up to tug at John’s jacket. John obeyed the simple command, taking his jacket off and letting Paul run his hands over his sculpted arms. He wasn’t muscular but he could take someone down in a fight, therefore the hard muscles. 

John pushed Paul’s tshirt over his head, taking it off completely so Paul laid shirtless underneath him. He released the younger boy’s lips to gaze at him for a moment, taking in his most prized achievement laying under him. Pale chest flushed slightly and looking at him like he owned the world, which he did as long as Paul was with him. Oh he’d make Paul his tonight. With that thought in mind he leaned down and kissed the warm skin behind Paul’s ear. Paul reached up to grip his shirt as the older boy worked his way down, licking and kissing the warm skin of Paul’s throat. He stopped right under his Addams apple and sucked the skin into his mouth, working his tongue over it until Paul was sweating and left with a bruise. John wanted to paint him with his lips, leave marks everywhere for tomorrow to see. John sucked another bruise into his skin of his throat before moving down and licking his collarbones. Paul was breathing heavily as John sucked on his skin, littering him with marks. John’s head was running wild and his hands found the zipper on Paul’s jeans. He undid it whilst moving his mouth over Paul’s nipple. He licked the little nub, making Paul gasp. 

“Oh god, Johnny.” Paul moaned and John bit down. The boy arched into his mouth, not knowing that he could be sensitive in such a strange place. 

John lifted his mouth off in favour of pulling Paul’s jeans down his never ending legs. John went down with them until he was laying between Paul’s legs, his face suddenly inches away from Paul’s clothed arousal. Paul stilled, staring at John laying between his legs. John looked up and they locked eyes. Paul, feeling brave bent his legs up, spreading them. The simple movement made John’s heart race and all the blood in his body rush south. He had fucked many girls and a few lads, none of which had been as sexy or fulfilling as that. His usually pliant princess spread his legs for him like a whore and if John had still been fourteen he’d have creamed his pants. Now thankfully he had some stamina and only let a moan slip past his lips. Instinctively he moved forth, wrapping his hands around Paul’s thick thighs and he rubbed his nose against the bulge in Paul’s white pants, just like he’d rub his face into the wet parts of a girl’s panties. Paul wasn’t a girl but the response was the same, a loud keening noise and god John wanted to hear that again. He let his nose run over the small wet spot that started to appear against the white fabric, opening his mouth to add to the fun. He mouthed at the fabric, teasing and playing Paul’s oncoming erection. 

Paul was a trembling mess. He had one fist in his mouth, trying to keep himself from making more noise. The other hand was scraping uselessly against the ground to find something to hold on. John’s hair tickled his thighs and he could feel John’s faint stubble scratching at him. John looked up at him, seeing the way his hair stuck to his forehead and his cheeks flushed and then seeing the reason that Paul had stopped making those delicious noises. For fuck’s sake. John reached up and captured Paul’s wrist, removing his hand from his mouth. John moved his fingers down to the waistband on Paul’s boxers. He gently pulled them off, exposing all of Paul. His cock snapped up against his stomach, leaking pre-cum. John licked his lips and fisted the erect limb, giving it a few pumps before putting his lips around the tip. 

“Oh my god, John!” Paul moaned, hips bucking up into the heat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

“Naughty.” John slipped off Paul’s dick to tease him about the excessive swearing, wrapping his hand back around Paul’s length. 

“Fuck me, John!” Paul almost yelled at him, done with the teasing and wanting to get on with it. “Touch me, fuck me, something!” 

John gulped and sat up between Paul’s spread legs, admiring the sour grimace on his face for a few seconds before throwing his own shirt off. He picked out his emergency pack with lube from his pocket. Paul raised an eyebrow.

“Came prepared, eh?” Paul breathed as John worked on shimmying his leather pants down. 

“You should see yourself as lucky.” John said, giving up when he couldn’t get his pants down past his thighs, the sweat making them stick to his skin even more than usual. Giving up on his pants he worked on opening the packet of lube, which was easier. He coated his fingers with the slick substance and leaned over Paul, fingertips finding his asshole, spread out for him. Paul twitched when his cool fingers came in contact with the sensitive skin. His stomach did a nervous flip and he gulped, staring into John’s eyes. 

“Will it hurt?” Paul asked, voice coming out weak.

“I’ll be careful.” John promised and flicked his finger over the boy’s entrance. Paul’s body flinched and he let out a shaky moan, nodding softly. John smiled and watched Paul’s face as he carefully slid a finger inside, going all the way in. John licked his lips, Paul’s insides were soft, warm and felt so, so good. He couldn’t wait to have that velvety heat wrapped around his dick. Paul let out another shaky moan, clenching slightly around John’s finger. He reached up and gripped John’s shoulders, holding on to him as John started to slowly move his finger, sliding it in and out. It was weird, feeling something enter him like that and move. It was one thing when John’s finger was still and the feeling of it moving, seemingly going deeper with every stroke. A second finger began circling his rim and then started to gently worm its way in. Paul hissed, clenching up instantly. John stopped moving, a whole finger and a fingertip inside of Paul. He put his lips to Paul’s chest, kissing up and down towards his neck and back. Paul moved a hand away from John’s shoulder, taking deep breaths to relax himself as he moved his hand to grasp at John’s. The older boy clasped their hands together, tangling their fingers. This final act of reassurance relaxed him long enough to let John continue. The singer did so gratefully, pushing his finger further inside until he had two fingers buried to the hilt inside of his prince. Paul let out whiny moan as John began to move them, crook them. The older boy had never fucked anyone like this, nor had he been fucked himself but he had learnt a lot from talking to various shady people at pubs so he knew that there was a certain spot inside of one’s ass that made you see stars. John was determined to find it so he crooked his fingers, twisted and pulled them, scraping his fingertips against Paul’s walls, making the younger wiggle and whine before finally, finally he found a small nub inside of the boy. 

Paul was withering and sweating under John, busying himself with squeezing and dragging his nails across John’s skin as he was fingered open when suddenly John gave a hard push and Paul felt an electric jolt of white hot pleasure run through his body. He let out a loud and whiny moan that would have made a whore blush and arched his back, fingernails digging into John’s skin and breaking it. John let out a shallow grunt, the pain from his skin being cut sent waves of pleasure down to his dick. 

“Do that again, s-shit John!” Paul grunted, pushing his body down on John’s fingers. 

The older boy slipped in a third finger, stretching the boy out properly and yet again assaulting the little nub deep inside of him. Paul arched his back, urging John deeper inside of him. John licked his lips and kissed Paul’s jaw, slipping his fingers out of him. Paul whined at the loss but was quickly silenced by John’s wet lips pressing against his own. He hummed into the kiss, barely grasping that John was shuffling his pants down and lathering himself up with lube. The moment of realisation was when he felt something blunt press against his entrance. Paul gulped and opened his eyes, breaking away from the kiss. John looked into his eyes, hands still locked together as he pushed the head of his cock into Paul. The younger hissed at the initial intrusion. It felt strange, a large pressure just sliding into you slowly, slowly. There was no raw skin rubbing only smooth discomfort and he could feel every millimetre of it. Being spread open was one of the strangest and most appealing sensation he had ever felt, and he was feeling it with John, his moon and stars. He looked up at John, face flush, eyes looking right back at him and cheeks flushed. His thighs came to rest against Paul’s ass cheeks, a soft warming touch that made Paul’s stomach flip. He was so full and it felt fucking fantastic. Now if only John would move. 

“Go on.” He breathed and John nodded, working up a small rhythm. The smooth drag of the dick inside of him made Paul moan shallowly. He couldn’t help it and he didn’t have the decency or pride to shut up. John on the other hand was mostly staying quiet, letting heavy breaths and short pants escape his thin lips. Paul wanted to wreck him. He was getting annoyed at John for being silent, careful and full of pride so he took the matter into his own hands. 

Paul rose up and rolled them over so John was underneath him. He could feel John slip out of him but he didn’t care. He would soon be full again. John made a noise of protest, which Paul quickly kissed away from him. He reached under himself, fingers wrapping around the pulsing heat of John’s dick, positioning himself quickly and then in one go, he slammed his hips down. John bucked up into him, a small moan escaping his lips. 

“Shit Paul.” He panted, hands coming to rest on his lover’s milky thighs. Paul grinned stupidly at the sound falling from John’s lips and he lifted himself, snapping his hips down and starting an unruly pace. Bouncing like his life depended on it. He’d be sore in the morning, he knew it but with the way John was helplessly moaning underneath him, face contorted in an almost painful expression, it would be worth it in the morning. 

Paul shifted his hips and found his prostate, with a groan he went faster, fucking himself on John’s cock. The older tried meekly to reach up for him, for something to hold on to, maybe to slow the pace. Paul didn’t know and neither did he allow it. He grabbed John’s wrist and pushed them to the ground. 

“Paul, dear god!” John moaned as Paul rocked his hips, doing little eights. “I’m- fuck- close!” 

“I want I, I want it, cum in me, John!” Paul’s tongue moved by itself and he heard John start calling his name. A sobbing mantra of “Paul, Paul, Paul.” 

The younger groaned, John sounded so desperate for release. He wrapped his hand around his own dick, pumping it and trying to keep up with the pace he was setting for himself. It didn’t take long and he came over John’s stomach and chest, shooting out in little spurts and calling his name to the stars, not caring who heard them. He tightened around John, sending him over the edge with a sob. 

Paul rode out his orgasm until he felt John go soft inside of him. That’s when he finally climbed off, his thighs shaking and eyes ready to drop. John didn’t look any better, he was trembling, eyes shut and trying to regain his cool. Paul smiled, John looked like a wreck, sweaty and overly fucked out. 

“Good?” Paul asked as he laid down, snuggling in against John’s side. The other wrapped his arm tiredly around Paul’s body, pulling him closer. 

“Best sex in my life.” John breathed. “Bloody hell, you little sex crazed fucker. Not so innocent are you?” 

Paul grinned sheepishly and closed his eyes. 

 

Ringo couldn’t get George out of his head. His world had turned grey and he refused to go outside. He had had to tell Pattie about him when she had come back from work. She had screamed and cried and it had taken her two hours, Astrid and a two LSD pills to calm her down. Ringo didn’t know who moped more, him or her. They both ended up curling into George’s bed during the days. Ringo laying down on the thin mattress, smoking whatever he could find that let his mind ease up. Pattie was notoriously wearing George’s clothes and hugging his pillows, breathing in the scent of him. Ringo wished he was a girl so he could do that to, sob over George and wear his clothes. Instead he just laid there, staring up at George’s Marilyn Monroe poster that he had bartered for three guitar picks. Occasionally his eyes would waver from the wall and down on Pattie, they’d share a look of remorse and sadness before Pattie’s eyes turned to the door or the one photo of George that she kept in a necklace. They barely ate, only if Paul came over and pretty much force fed them. 

“Why can’t Ringo do the drumming?” His name was thrown across the room like a curse. It had come from Pete’s lips. “I have a bird tonight and he’s been coped up in here for days!” 

“Well you are our drummer.” John argued. “Not Ringo.” 

“So what if I am?” Pete asked and threw his arm out. “He should earn his stay just like everyone else. George is gone to all of us, not just him!” 

“For god sake, Pete.” Stu butted in. “George’s gone and he’s moping. Let him live.” 

Live. 

That’s what George wanted him to do. The boy flashed through his mind, eyes wide in desperation and pain. Face paling from lack of blood, rushing out of his body through a hole in his chest. George shouldn’t be gone just to allow him to mope about in bed. Ringo rouse from his spot, making all eyes turn to him. He walked over to his own bed, stretching gently and picking up his drumsticks that he had placed under his pillow. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling residue wax tangling it together. It wasn’t much but he managed to get it not as messy as before, using the metal bars on his bed as a shit mirror. Once he deemed his loopy reflection good enough he stood up and looked over at his bandmates. 

“Alright?” He said and nodded at the door. 

“Alright.” John replied and walked over to Paul who was sat in one of the sofas. He kissed him goodbye and then joined Ringo at the door. Stu followed them and the three left the building. The fresh air in his lungs felt good and he took a deep breath, skipping down the fire escape with John and Stu, listening to their terrible chatter about something or other. Ringo couldn’t bother to listen. He was outside again and on his way to play in a club, probably. He wondered if it’d be any different, playing without George on the guitar, probably. Everything was different without him. 

Ringo pushed his loose hand into his pockets and looked up at the sky, it was dark out already. The dusk of the third day. George had been shot three days. If he had survived then they should know by now, or so John said. Even Paul was looking down about the ordeal. Paul had been a champ, pumping him full with empty promises of George coming back. Ringo had realised that it wasn’t happening. John had a point. They weren’t immortal. 

The club that they were playing at was a pretty shit one, Ringo found out. The stage was pushed into one corner and they barely had any space, at all. Stu and John were pushed together on one microphone and Ringo was cramped up with his drum set, barely enough room to swing at. Pete would never fit his long legs behind the drums. A fourth person couldn’t have fit on the stage anyway. As they started playing Ringo felt his emotion fleeting away into the abyss with every beat, every uttered syllabi and every harsh hit on the drums. Stu kept glancing back at him, an impressed look on his face. Ringo couldn’t be bothered with acknowledging it, keeping his focus on his drums, imagining them to be the severed heads of police officers. A gruesome sight but it got him through the set. 

Once finished, sweaty and tired he made his way off the stage, drumsticks clutched in one hand. There were booths along one of the walls and he swore he saw George sitting there, watching him with dark eyes and two pints of beer. He wasn’t that lucky. Stu and John didn’t seem to want to stay around the club so the three of them left and ended up sitting down on the sidewalk outside whilst John and Stu smoked. Ringo wasn’t feeling up for it, his tongue and throat were already dry from the excessive smoking he had done in bed. 

“Crabs has been bothering me a lot lately.” John muttered, breaking the silence that had settled over the three. “She has been talking about rent.” 

“We don’t pay no rent.” Stu replied, puffing out a ring of smoke. 

“That’s the problem.” John continued. “The cunt has been on me back, telling me if we don’t pay up then she’ll take our apartment for her bloody brothel.” 

“How much does she need then?” Ringo asked. 

“She is asking for a hundred bucks.” John spat. Stu sucked in a deep breath and Ringo quickly did some math. They’d get eight pounds for a gig like this, the girls pulled in ten to twelve pounds per customer. 

“That’s ten gigs and two shags.” Ringo counted. “Something like that. Or we can do five, five.” 

“Well gigs are sparse.” John crushed the butt of his cigarette into the ground and took some frustration out by stomping on it, grinding his heel against the poor thing, uniting it with the asphalt. “And we can’t ask the girls to take on five guys. Especially not Pattie.”

“George’s guitar is worth a lot.” Ringo stated coldly. “We could sell that and probably the stash of playboys he keeps under his mattress.” 

“No, we can’t do that.” Stu protested. “Ringo listen to yourself! Do you think George would want us to sell his guitar?” 

“George wants us to be happy.” Ringo stated quietly. He stared at where he knew the cigarette butt laid under John’s heel. Destruction was oddly satisfying. 

“That’ll get us by for now but Crabs wants a hundred every other week.” John huffed. “We can barely afford food as it is. My point is, we have to move.” 

“To where?” Stu asked. “Who the hell will accept six lads and two girls who looks and smells like they are living in a bin? I’m sure we can scrape together enough money to get by.” 

John only shook his head and stood up. Ringo followed his example. He didn’t believe that they would get a hundred bucks together every other week either. And since it was mostly him and Astrid who held onto the money he should know.


	6. The plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love reading your comments about this fic! It makes it so much more fun to write

Astrid became their savour. She learnt about the rent problem as soon as she had come off from work that evening. With a raised eyebrow she went into the bathroom and wiped off all of her makeup. She put on her slightly longer dress and brushed her hair down over her forehead before she was out of the door again. The boys gave her odd looks as she left but didn’t question it. She was clever, Astrid. Too bad she was being wasted on living like she was. 

They had waited up all night, everyone gathered on the sofa, even Pattie had gotten out of bed and was curled up, her legs in Ringo’s lap and her head cushioned on his shoulder. John was laying across one of the couches with his head in Paul’s lap. The younger kept playing with his hair, occasionally lifting John’s hands to his face to kiss his knuckles. 

It only took a few hours for Astrid to come back and when she did she had a few bundled up bills in her hand and a lopsided grin on her face. She waltzed over and slammed the cash down on the table. Pete leaned over and grabbed it, counting everything. 

“That’s a hundred.” He breathed. “What did you do?” 

“Some old men just like to buy girl’s underwear.” She said with a giggle. 

 

John slammed the money into Crabs fat hand that same afternoon. The brothel that she ran was right up grotty, even worse than their apartment. The walls had been red once but the colour had faded into dark pink. The room that you entered before spiralling off to the bedrooms only held a ratty old couch, a desk and Crab’s horrible, purple arm chair. It had shaped itself around her massive body, and it was only comfortable to her, no one else. 

“There.” He watched as her wrinkly face split into a toothless grin and she let out a rough sounding chuckle. 

“That’s a good lad.” She said, voice thick and rough from years of smoking. “I’ll expect another payment next Monday.” 

John sneered and exited the brothel, feeling her eyes drilling themselves into his back. He had forgotten the stench that lingered over that place and suddenly he felt bad for both Pattie and Astrid. The place smelled like cum and rotten eggs, not a pleasant mix. He walked up the fire escape, back to their apartment. Music hit his ears as he placed his hand on the door handle and he paused. What the hell? That wasn’t the usual sound of Paul strumming away on his guitar. That was a piano. John opened the door and stepped inside. Ringo and Stu were sitting on the floor, fiddling with something. When they heard John enter, Stu turned to him with a wide grin. 

“I stole a radio!” He said proudly. “And it has batteries in it, no power needed.”

“You stole a radio and all you decided to listen to was classical?” John teased and walked over to his bed. Paul was sitting in his usual spot, smiling softly at him and nodding his head along to the music. “Hey, Ringo? When do we remove Paul’s stitches?” 

“We can do that now, it should have healed up.” Ringo said and stood up from where he had been sitting on the floor. “Have you had stitches removed before, Paul?” 

“No.” Paul replied and watched as Ringo moved over to them. Meanwhile John manoeuvred Paul to sit between his legs. “Is it going to hurt?” 

“Yeah.” Ringo said, sitting down on the bed. He picked out a pocketknife from his pocket and placed Paul’s foot on his lap. “And I need you to be still so grab onto John, or whatever.” 

Paul nodded and gripped John’s hand. The older lad kissed Paul’s temple, wrapping his loose arm around Paul’s waist, holding him tight to his chest. Ringo unwrapped the bandage from Paul’s foot and looked at the skin, everything had healed up into two white scars. He flipped the blade out on his knife and set to work, carefully cutting out the stitches. Above him, Paul bit his lip and dug his nails into John’s hands, trying to not make noises or flinch. Stu had already taken to calling him baby because he was helpless and stuck inside all day. Paul would show him he could indeed take his stitches out without breaking a sweat.

The process took less time than Paul expected. Ringo was damn skilled with that knife and soon enough he sat up straight, a wonky grin on his face. Paul smiled back and wiggled his toes before eagerly climbing out of bed, standing on both feet. He did in fact not notice John rubbing at the nail marks Paul had left on his hand. 

“I want to dance.” Paul announced and grabbed John, pulling him up. Stu started to laugh somewhere behind him and Paul sent him an unamused glare. 

“John is a shit dancer.” Stu teased but raised the volume on the radio slightly and started to look for a channel that didn’t play classical. 

“You don’t have to change the music, classical is fine.” Paul said. 

“Are you going to slow dance?” Stu continued to tease. “Oh, I’m excited.” 

He and Ringo shared an evil grin as Ringo came and sat down next to him. John huffed and raised his head. He felt Paul’s hand rest on his waist and his mind flashed back to when they had danced in the castle and he had fawned over the prince like a school girl. All heart eyes and soft limbed. He remembered the look Paul held in his eyes and that look had returned now. All the innocence that those eyes usually held replaced with something dominating that sent a shiver down John’s spine. Needless to say he got into position dutifully, clasping their hands together and placing his other hand on Paul’s shoulder. 

They set off to the tune that Stu had found. John could faintly make out the sounds of Ringo and Stu snickering like idiots but Paul caught most of his attention. The prince danced flawlessly across the dusty floor whilst John stumbled along, feeling like putty in his arms. Paul made him weak in the knees, especially whilst looking at him like that. The gaze was possessive and the whole ordeal made John want to crawl into Paul’s arms and hide away for an eternity. John stepped closer to Paul, feeling his hand slide around to rest on his lower back. John’s head came to rest on Paul’s shoulder and his focus turned to making sure that he wouldn’t step on Paul’s toes. 

“No wonders he’s a shit dancer!” Stu let out. “He only knows the lasses’ parts!” 

The magic surrounding Paul the dancer drifted off and John felt his body run hot with embarrassment. He quickly pushed away out of the dance and rolled his sleeves up, ready to pounce on Stu when the door was slammed open and a dishevelled mess of a lad stepped inside. Astrid was the first one to really see who it was, then it was Ringo and he just gaped like he’d seen a fucking ghost. 

George. 

Pattie let out a scream and rushed out of bed, falling over in the sheets and quickly making her way over to the boyfriend she thought she had lost. George reached out and wrapped one arm around her, wincing as her body pressed up against his. He kissed her head and temples over and over as she sobbed into his shirt.

“George.” Ringo breathed but it seemed to be loud enough for George. The young lad snapped his head towards him as Ringo stood up. “But, you can’t be… You got shot.” 

George quietly nodded and pulled his collar down, showing off the bandage underneath. Someone had taken care of him, Ringo wordlessly thanked whoever had saved him. 

Pattie finally let him go, with a little help from George who waltzed over to Ringo and wrapped one arm around his shoulders. Ringo swept his arms around George, hugging him close and feeling that he was real, warm blooded and alive. Ringo grabbed onto the back of George’s jacket, hiding his face against his chest. 

“You scared the fucking shit out of me.” Ringo whispered shakily against George’s warm chest. “Fuck you.” 

He heard George chuckle somewhere above him and his chin came to rest on top of Ringo’s head. He closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of George, the real scent and not the aftershave smell left behind on his bedsheets. 

“Christ, mate.” John breathed. “What happened?” 

The two broke apart and looked back at the others. Paul was standing next to John, a devilish ‘I told you so’ smirk on his face and eyes glossy from unshed tears. John and Stu both looked baffled to say the least. Ringo looked up at George, he was wondering too. What had really happened when George had been taken away by police? 

“Let’s sit down.” George said and his voice sounded like honey, sweet and smooth. Ringo never thought he’d miss the old scouse slur as much as he did. “I’ll tell you everything.” 

They all gathered on the couch, Pattie on George’s lap and Ringo and Paul on either side of him. Ringo couldn’t stop staring. 

George woke up in a white room. His body heavy and aching, a constant annoying fucking beeping in his ear. With a groan he tried to lift his hand, only to find that one of his arms hurt too much to move and the other was stuck. He let his head turn from staring at the ceiling and look down at himself. He was shirtless, with a white blanket tucked over his hips and legs. His wrists were shackled down with broad stripes of leather, stuck to the metal edges of the bed. Where the fuck was he? George looked around, noticing that he was hooked up to what looked like a heart monitor and an IV. A hospital, he figured but what kind of hospital ties their patients to the bed? He continued scouting the room. It was entirely white and the floor seemed well cleaned and shiny. There was a small window with bars over it on one wall as well as a door. Thank god, there was a way out. 

He tugged at his restraints, groaning when pain flared up from his arm. He looked down and saw that his shoulder was bandaged tightly. The bandage made memories flood back, memories of getting shot, the piercing pain of a bullet ripping a hole in his flesh. Using his last energy to throw a stone at Ringo, urging him to run away. The last words he heard before slipping out of consciousness. 

We got you now Lennon. 

George cursed under his breath. He wasn’t John, they should realise that, right? God, he hoped so. He laid his head back on the abnormally fluffy pillow, took a deep breath and tried to focus. Ringo got away, thinking he was dead probably. That’s for the best. Otherwise John would have cooked up a rescue plan. At least they would spare themselves the trouble. 

The silence in the room was interrupted by a creaking door. George’s head snapped towards the sound and he stared as two men stepped through along with what looked like a nurse. The nurse walked up to him and began undoing his bandage, not uttering a single word. 

“Who are you?” George demanded, glaring at her. She didn’t reply, her little mouth set into a thin line as she worked. 

George huffed and looked down at his shoulder, wishing that he hadn’t. It had been cleaned up nicely but it was still horrifically ugly. A gaping wound, held together by four neat stitches, edges red rimmed and a giant purple bruise around him. He wouldn’t be playing guitar with that arm for a good few weeks. Considering everything that had happened it was the thought of not being able to play guitar again for a few weeks that saddened him the most. 

When she had finished rewrapping the bandage she quickly disappeared out of the room. The two men that were left in the room stared him down good and proper, making him feel smaller in the white bed. The fact that they were dressed nice too, one in a tailored suit and the other in a nice looking police uniform whilst he was half naked and shackled down didn’t help the situation either. 

“It’s not him.” The suit-man sounded posh with an underlying accent that George couldn’t place. 

“He fits the description.” The police officer argued. “Big eyebrows, big nose, tall and thin.” 

“It’s not him, I tell you.” The man crossed his arms over his chest and gave the police officer a stern stare. “And His majesty will tell you the same thing when he sees him.” 

“He might know him?” The police officer suggested. “He looks just like him and was dressed like the description. There must be a connection.” 

The other man went silent and then nodded. He walked over to the bed and pulled up a stool, taking a seat next to George. The younger boy glared fiercely at him, mouth curling into a snarl. 

“Hello, my name is Brian.” The man obviously named Brian said. George only glared. “What’s your name?” 

George didn’t reply. 

“You’re not making this easier on yourself.” Brian sighed. “Do you know John Lennon? He should be about your age.” 

Silence. 

“If you answer, we’ll untie you.” Brian tried bribing him. George didn’t budge. The police officer stepped up and slapped the helpless boy harshly. George’s head flew to the side and he gritted his teeth together in pain. “Mal, stop it!” 

“He’s a teenager.” Mal muttered. “You have to treat them roughly, otherwise you won’t get anywhere with them.” 

“Where are your parents?” Brian asked, still glaring at the police officer. “Or are you alone?” 

George stayed silent. He didn’t feel like telling two unknown men that he was seventeen and living on the street, spending his nights smoking crack and drinking. He felt like that wouldn’t be too appreciated. 

“Answer him, brat.” Mal said and raised his hand. George glared and waited for the slap. He didn’t have to wait long as the ringing pain hit him again, making his head spin from the force.

“Take it easy.” Brian said. “You’ll make him faint again. We’ll let him rest up for another day, then we will take him to the king. Make sure he gets fed as well.” 

The two men exited the room and left George to his own devices again. He let a pained hiss escape him, his face pounding with pain. That man had a good swing in him that’s for damn sure. It reminded him of John when he got into bar fights. Or Ringo. He might be short and rather docile but if someone messed with his friends he’d go ballistic. Ringo. George closed his eyes and let his mind fleet away to the conversation they had had at the pub. He had never figured that Ringo would be queer. George didn’t even know if he himself was queer. He didn’t know why he told Ringo his deepest secrets either. It had been a stupid move and it had pretty much put him into this mess. Fucking hell, if only Ringo was here. He had been longing for the lad for ages. Of course he loved Pattie, she was his everything but there was something that made Ringo more appealing. 

 

The two men did return the next day and this time they had back-up. He was released from the bed and given a plain white shirt before his hands were tied behind his back. Every little movement hurt his shoulder but he toughed it out, willing himself to not break in front of the brutally big police officers and Brian. He was brought out of his little room and lead through a cobbled corridor and into a room that would fit their entire apartment two times. He looked around. Colourful tapestries and flags decorated the walls. The roof was painted to look like a war scene. George could faintly recognise the scene from one of his old school history books. A lush, wine coloured carpet was laid out, leading up to a mahogany platform where three golden chairs were stood. A middle aged man was sat in the largest most extravagant throne, George recognised him. The king, Paul’s father. He looked just like George had imagined him from John’s description. Almost entirely bald, well-built and Paul’s thin nose. George was pushed down on his knees in front of the king and forced to look up. A shiver ran through his body. John had been sitting here, tied up and awaiting trial. Now he was John.

“As I said, Your majesty.” Brian spoke up. “This is not the boy you are looking for, but he might now John Lennon.” 

“Has anyone found out who he is?” The king asked tiredly. He looked like he hadn’t slept since Paul disappeared. George figured that he probably hadn’t and something about that pleased him. 

“He refuses to speak, Your majesty.” Mal said, gripping onto the back of George’s hair, holding his head tight. He gritted his teeth in pain. “I believe that he might know something, otherwise he wouldn’t be quiet.” 

“Very well.” The king replied. “Put him down in the dungeon, don’t give him any food or water. He’ll crack. Unless he wants to speak now.” 

George mustered a glare and spat onto the floor. The police officers gasped and one of them stepped up and slammed him again, making his ear ring horribly. Woozy from the sound and pain he barely realised that he was being dragged out of the courtroom before he was thrown down on something horribly hard and wet, stone. He groaned, feeling his hands roughly be untied. Then the metal door to his cell slammed shut and he was left alone. 

He curled up, shivering from the cold water that lined the bottom of the cell. His shoulder hurt and so did his face. George hid his face against his knees. He didn’t want to die, he needed to get out of here. Slowly he lifted his hurting face and took in his environment. Two thick stone walls separated him from the other cells and there were bars at the front. The corridor outside was dimly lit by bare lightbulbs and the windows were high up so he guessed that he was in a basement. Slowly he crawled his way over to the bars and gripped them with his good hand, his other arm hanging uselessly by his side. It hurt to move it especially after having been thrown around for the better half of the day. George pressed his thin face to the bars, looking out. There was a door at the end of the corridor and if he could just get out of the cell then he would be able to make a run for it. The metal bars of his cell were cool against his skin so he leaned against them, feeling the swelling in his cheeks ease up. A shiver ran through his body and he clutched the bars harder, shaking them lightly. This was bullshit, all of it. 

George was sat by the door in his cell, trailing his finger along the rough metal of the bars when he heard a door unlock, the door to the basement. He quickly scrambled to his feet, pressing his face out against the bars again and trying to get a look at whoever was coming down. Brian. George sneered and looked him over. The older man held a bundled up piece of cloth and a set of keys, obviously to the cells. George recognised the piece of clothing as his leather jacket. When he saw the old thing he instantly felt how cold he was. Brian stopped in front of him, looking into the cell. 

“I hoped we could talk.” Brian said. “If you answer a few of my questions you’ll get your jacket back.” 

George’s eyes travelled to the keys the older man held tight in one hand. Maybe he could lure Brian inside of the cell? Take the keys off of him? He licked his lips and then nodded, stepping back to allow Brian to unlock the door. The older man stayed outside, clutching the jacket to his side as if it was a briefcase. 

“Do you know John Lennon?” Brian asked. George squinted his eyes and then gave a careful nod. “Good, is he a good man?” 

George raised an eyebrow at Brian, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I suppose so.” George’s voice came out raspy and he cleared his throat. Sometimes not speaking could really clog you up. 

“Is Paul with him?” Brian asked quietly, stepping closer to the bars. George gave another little nod. “Are they happy?” 

George nodded again. He was beginning to think that there was another reason for Brian to be curious about John and Paul. 

“I’m guessing that you’re a friend to them.” Brian said quietly, looking down at his feet and then up at George again. “Please take care of Paul, for me?” 

“I will.” George promised. Brian nodded and took a deep breath, stepping up to the cell door, he brought out his key and unlocked it. He walked inside and handed George his jacket. George grabbed it and quickly put it on, sighing softly at the warmth it provided. He smoothed the front down with his good hand, searching for any specks of dusts or other imperfections. His fingers instantly caught onto the spot where the bullet had broken through. There was a small hole going through. Awkwardly reaching around the back of the jacket was equally as scary because there was an even bigger hole there. The bullet had gone straight through him. It was a straight up miracle that Ringo hadn’t gotten hit by the bullet. 

“You seem like a good lad, I’m sorry this happened to you.” Brian said and dug through his pocket. He fished up a bottle of pills and handed it to George. “Antibiotics to beat your infection. Take them with food, one pill every day until the bottle is empty. Find something to sling your arm up with and don’t use it too much. You have some nerve and muscle damage but it should heal up. Now I need you to listen to me, closely.” 

George blinked a few times. Was Brian helping him? 

“You leave the basement through that door, follow the staircase and then take a sharp left. Follow the corridor and then take the fourth door into the yard. Go along the wall and you should be fine. Now you need to knock me out, otherwise they will realise that I let you out. When you get out, take your friends and go. Leave the city and can you say hello to Paul from me? And tell John that if he lays a hand on him, I’ll personally find him and… And do something nasty.” 

George managed a little grin as Brian handed him the keys. 

“Thank you.” He said softly and put the pills and keys into his own pocket. He cracked his knuckles and drew his fist back. Brian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

George punched Brian harshly in the temple, making the older man fall to the floor. Without wasting any time George jumped over his body and rushed out of the cell, over to the basement door. He picked the keys up and unlocked the door. As Brian had promised there was a staircase which he followed. He let out a quiet groan and cradled his useless arm against his chest since it hurt when it bounced about. 

Once he had climbed the entire staircase he spotted two guards in the far end of the corridor. He gulped and made a sharp left before they noticed him. The sun was setting, giving him a decent amount of cover as he ran following the dim corridor and counting the door as he went. He skidded to a halt in front of the fourth one and ran out. 

“And the rest is just me running back here.” George finished telling to attentive ears. Paul had curled up, biting at his knuckles to keep tears at bay.

“Seems like a good guy, Brian.” Stu said. 

“The best.” John agreed. “Fucking fantastic ol’ queer, but is it necessary to leave?” 

“I was thinking the same.” Stu said. “If we have settled our debts with Crabs and found a way to make decent money then how bad can it get?” 

“George got shot, that’s how bad it’s going to get.” Paul said, frowning at Stuart. “Is that not bad enough?” 

“Where do you suggest that we go?” Stuart snapped. “If you haven’t noticed already we don’t really have money to move around much.” 

“We should get out of the country.” Paul said. “Hitchhike along. There’s a country up north that has cut its ties with our country. If we go there we won’t be wanted. And Brian has told me that there’s a city called Hamburg, full of alcohol, hookers and small bands. We can be just another small band. The have so many clubs that finding gigs wouldn’t be a problem anymore.” 

“Sounds alright.” George agreed. “Wouldn’t mind getting out of this hell hole to be honest.” 

“I don’t want to leave.” Pattie spoke up, looking down at George. “And you shouldn’t be running off with your shoulder.”

“It’ll be fine.” George said. “Ringo will fix it up, right Rings?” 

“Yeah.” Ringo said with a nod and stood up from the sofa. He walked to his bed and picked up another roll of bandage. He walked back to George and sat down. “Give me your arm.” 

“We should speak with Astrid and Pete about it first.” John said. “We can’t leave without them.” 

“So we are leaving now, are we?” Stuart asked. “Going soft Lennon?” 

“Fuck no.” John replied. “But Paul has a point. I don’t want people to get hurt because they look like me.” 

“People will recognise you on the way out, don’t be daft.” Stu muttered. “Your mug isn’t easy to forget.” 

“Then I’ll get the same haircut as Paul.” John said and looked over at Paul who was leaning into George, watching as Ringo bandaged his arm to have support on his good shoulder. “Cover me face real good.” 

“You do that.” Stu huffed. 

The door creaked open as they spoke and Astrid and Pete came back. Both burst into smiles as they saw George and ran to him in disbelief, chatting about how they were happy to see him. 

“News is spreading around town that you escaped.” Astrid said as she sank down into the sofa next to Stu. “And beat up the royal advisor whilst you were at it.” 

“Oh yeah.” George said. “Hurt me hand doing that.” 

“They are talking about running away.” Stu said and Astrid raised an eyebrow. 

“Well that’s not a too shabby idea.” Astrid said. “I have been thinking of it too, getting out of here. There’s an art and act school a few towns over and they are looking for students.”

Pattie perked up at that, looking back at George and then at Astrid. 

“Really?” She asked hopefully. “Think they’ll take us in?” 

“With that pretty face and all the hours faking orgasms?” Astrid said. “You’d barely have to audition!” 

“Hear that, Georgie?” Pattie said and kissed George’s cheek. “We can go there!” 

“I’m not an artist.” George said quietly. “Nor an actor.” 

“They’ll teach us.” Astrid filled in. “Come on lads, it could be fun? Getting out of this hell hole for once!” 

John looked at Paul who just quietly shook his head. The older boy scratched at his side burns, licking his lips in thought. 

“I want to go to Hamburg.” Paul said softly. “We could make it big.” 

Silence settled over the room. Everything came down to a harsh decision. After all they had been through so much together, the lot of them. John looked over at Stu. The boy had always been good at drawing, filling sketchbook after sketchbook with everything that he could find. They had been through a lot. He and Stu had found each other when they both still lived at an orphanage, just wee lads. John had wanted to leave to find his mother, Stu had agreed to come with him and together they had conquered the big city. John had found his mother and then lost her. Stu had been there for him. They could talk about everything but now there was only loud silence. The kind that filled empty space and made you suffocate underneath it. 

“Why don’t we split up then?” It was Ringo who broke the barrier. “If people want to go to Hamburg then they’ll go to Hamburg, if people want to go back to school then they’ll go to school.” 

Pattie slipped her arms around George’s neck, fiddling with the back of his hair quietly. Both John and George looked at each other, knowing that they had the hardest decisions to make. The love of their lives or their best friend. 

“Let’s all sleep on it.” Astrid said softly. “And we’ll talk about it again in the morning.” 

They all agreed to that and slowly headed to bed. Pete left the apartment, as usual. He had other friends to tend to. George and Pattie went to bed, she helped him get out of his shirt and jacket. Ringo went to bed alone, trying to ignore the very in-love couple on the other side of the room. It had always bothered him, ever since they had started dating and Pattie was all that George could ever talk or think about but he had learnt to live with it. Why was it crashing down over his head now all of a sudden? 

George smiled softly as he and Pattie settled into bed, it felt good to sleep in your own sheets, with your own girlfriend but he thought he would be happier, seeing her. The tingle that ran through his core every time she kissed his lips was gone and replaced with an empty feeling of just happiness. The tingle had been reserved for when Ringo had rushed up and wrapped his arms around him. With a sigh he closed his eyes and wrapped his arm around Pattie’s thin waist, trying to relax. 

Paul kicked his trousers off and climbed into bed after John, settling down into the older boy’s arms. He ran his fingers over John’s pale chest, closing his eyes. 

“Paul?” John whispered into his hair. Paul opened his eyes and looked up at John through the dark. “Would you be angry with me if I left for art school?”

“Well you do what you want.” Paul mumbled, feeling a heavy lump settle in his stomach. “Never thought you were the one to choose school over music.” 

Paul could feel John’s arms tighten around him and he knew he’d hit home. It wasn’t music or art John was choosing between, Paul knew very well that it stood between him and Stu and green hot jealousy pulled through him. 

“I’ll always love you.” Paul whispered. “No matter who you choose.” 

With that he closed his eyes, knowing that he planted a war in John’s head. It was mean, Paul knew that but in the moment everything about what he had said felt right and he fell asleep, listening to the breathing of the other inhabitants.


	7. Gone south

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter part leading up to the big ending!

Ringo woke the next morning to panicked chatter. He rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed, looking towards the doorway. John and Stu were stood there in only tshirts and underwear and they were loudly talking to someone. 

“What’s going on?” Ringo asked nobody as he came to and dragged himself out of bed. Paul was standing behind Stu and John, arms crossed over his chest and a worried expression on his face. Since he wasn’t busy arguing he turned to Ringo and mouthed “Crabs” at him. Ringo frowned and walked over to where they were crowding the door. He stood up on his tip toes behind Stu to peek out of the door and indeed, there she was, just as ugly as he remembered and lipstick on her teeth. 

“There’s money on your head, Lennon!” She rasped. “As well as on the prince that you keep hidden away in there and that thin skeleton boy, imagine the money I could get for handing you lot in!”

“Fuck off, hag.” John waved his fist in the air. “No one will listen to your fat arse anyway! Now get lost before I kick you and your dirty knickers down the bloody stairs!” 

She only grinned and started walking away. 

“I’ll phone them, Lennon!” Crabs yelled over her shoulder. “And you’ll be kissing my feet for mercy when they take you away for beheading!” 

John growled and was on his way out of the door when Stu and Ringo grabbed him and pulled back into the apartment. By now everyone else were awake as well and were sitting up, looking worried. 

“We need to pack up and go.” Stuart said. “And that means now!” 

John and Paul rushed back to their bed and John pulled off the blankets. He laid them on the floor and began picking through everything they owned, throwing it onto the blankets. Paul raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it. He gathered the little amount of stuff that he had kept. An old camera that Ringo had given him and his notebooks and pens. John stuffed down old photographs that he had taken out of his pillowcase along with guitar picks, his harmonica and all the clothes that he could find. The last thing he placed on the blanket were four odd looking rings. When he was done he pulled his belt out of his trousers which laid on the floor along with his knife. He made holes in the blanket and stuffed the rings inside. There was a cranny running along the edge of the rings where the blanket fit in perfectly. 

“Remember when we did this last, John?” Stu called from across the room. Paul looked over and saw that Stu had pulled his belt out too and done the same thing with the rings to his blanket. Paul watched as Stu treaded the belt through the holes he had made in his blanket and then pulled tight, creating a small parcel. He looped his belt around and tied itself before standing up and looping the parcel over his shoulder. 

“Oh yes!” John hollered. “Running away from the orphanage. The excitement really gets you.” 

He was grinning madly as he hooked his parcel over the neck of his guitar. He slung the guitar over his back and then started putting his pants on. Paul decided that getting dressed was a pretty good idea so he did just that and then grabbed his guitar, hanging it over his shoulder. 

“All ready?” John called and earned affirmative answers from everyone. Astrid had ran over to help pack up George’s and Pattie’s things whilst Pattie bandaged and helped George get dressed. “Okay we need to go!” 

Stu headed for the door, grabbing Astrid’s hand as he went. He opened the door and stopped dead in his tracks as he stared out. The street below them was crowding with police. 

“She’s fucking fast, old bitch!” He yelled and then took for the fire escape, running up instead of down. 

Paul and John shared a worried glance and then rushed after Stu, following him and Astrid up the stairs. The other three ran after them as well. Thankfully they all made it up to the sixth floor intact. 

“Now what?” Paul panted. His heart was racing and he clutched John’s hand in a death grip. He was so afraid that one of them would end up getting hurt. 

Stu and Ringo scouted the apartment, looking for any sort of way out. Ringo ran to the blown out hole in the side of the building. 

“There’s a telephone line.” Ringo said and stood on his tip toes touching the telephone line that ran between the two buildings. 

“That’s the shittiest idea ever.” John groaned. “We got a lad with only one working arm and how bloody fast do you think we climb? We’ll be hanging out there like funny fair’s ducks. Ready to be popped!” 

“I’ve got a better solution.” Stu said and everyone turned towards him. He was tugging on the handle of a door that probably lead to the stairwell. “Only problem is that it’s locked.” 

“Move aside.” Pattie released George’s hand and walked over to the door. Stu raised an eyebrow but did as asked. 

“Are you going to kick a door down in heels, darling?” John teased. “That’s not..” 

BAM! 

The door slammed open. Pattie tugged her foot free and turned to give the stunned crowd a glare. John gaped quietly, staring at her and then at the door. There was a perfectly round hole next to the lock. Her heel had gone through the old wood and hit the lock mechanism, opening it efficiently. 

“Come on! Pattie urged on and walked back, grabbed George by the hand and pulled him along. “I can hear them on the stairs.“

“Should get me a pair of heels.” John muttered as he followed her. 

Ringo closed the door behind them all and picked up his lighter once the door shut and they were enclosed in darkness. He lit it and walked up to George and Pattie. The three of them lead the way down the narrow stairs. Paul held onto John’s hand for dear life, pressing himself against his side. It wasn’t as much as he was scared as it was making sure that John was there. During all of this, Paul had a crunching feeling in his gut that something would go wrong. 

“It’s a little bit exciting, eh?” John said through the dark. 

“No it’s not.” Ringo replied. “Where are we going?” 

“If we get down to the second floor then there should be a vent big enough for us to fit through. It leads out to the trash containers.” Astrid explained quietly. 

The stairs seemed to never end as they descended. No one dared to speak, not even John. Astrid had picked up her own lighter and was leading the way until they reached the second floor. The walls were painted red here and there were doors with numbers on them everywhere. Pattie pressed herself against George, staring coldly at the numbered doors. George put his good arm around her waist, kissing her temple. Astrid looked back at Pattie and offered a knowing smile.

“If we leave then you’ll never have another client.” Astrid reassured and walked along the walls, her fingers running along the trashy wallpaper. Soon enough she found the vent and waved them all over. “I need someone’s knife to open this with.” 

Stu offered his and Astrid took it, pushing the blade into the screws holding the vent tight. She worked on unscrewing it, biting her lip. One after one the screws fell to the floor and soon the vent cover followed. It clashed with the ground before she could stop it, releasing a terrible metal sound. 

“Smooth.” John commented and walked to the vent. 

“Ladies first.” Astrid teased and moved out of the way for John. He dropped his bag and guitar whilst glaring at her. The singer huffed something very offensive to everyone carrying a vagina before climbing into the vent. He could only fit half of his body through it before his hands hit the other vent wall. Groaning quietly he shuffled around, bringing his fist out. With a deep breath he punched the vent cover, making it fly off its hinges and land in the container below. John pushed his way through, bracing himself with his hands on the wall below him. Once he had half of his body out and the only thing remaining inside were his legs, he started to realise that this was a terrible idea. He closed his eyes and thought of a silent prayer before releasing his hands and shoving himself out with his feet. He fell face first into the garbage underneath the vent, cursing as one split open and started stinking him up. 

“Feet first!” He called back into the vent as he stood up amongst all the trash

“If we go feet first then we won’t know where we are going.” Stu called back to him. 

“I’ll catch you, now get all the stuff through. Guitars and everything.” John said and manoeuvred his feet to get some proper footing, one foot on the side of the container and the other balanced on a surprisingly hard bag of garbage. 

The people on the other side pushed the guitars and all of their belongings through the vent. John caught them all and placed them down next to him in the container. He then braced himself for catching whoever was going to be eased through. 

“Promise to catch me, John?” It was Paul whose feet peeked through the vent. John grinned and walked closer, encircling one hand around Paul’s ankle. An exhale escaped Paul’s body and he allowed himself to be lowered into John’s arms. As promised he caught him, wrapping him up in a soft embrace and pecking his cheek. 

“There you go, baby.” John said softly. “Can you take the guitars and stuff? Don’t want it laying around in the trash.” 

Paul nodded and jumped down from the container. He took the guitars down from the container and watched as John helped George out of the vent. The younger was clutching his arm in an almost painful grip, hissing as John brought him into his arms and then down to Paul. 

Paul watched him move about with a sorry expression. Poor little thing, Paul found himself thinking as George sat his ass down on the side of the container, scooting to the very edge. The prince stepped up and put his hands on George’s waist, lifting him down from the container. It wasn’t high up but for some reason it felt necessary. He didn’t want to patronize the boy, neither did he want for him to hurt himself more. George only hung his head and kneeled down to pick his guitar up. 

John managed to bring them all down onto the containers. Stu was the last one out and together he and John climbed down from the dirty green containers. 

“You’ve got something.” Stu said with a grin. He wiped his thumb against John’s cheek, brushing away some messy substance. John feared the worst, considering whose garbage dumped he had face planted in. “There, all clear! Let’s go!” 

Paul watched Stu interact with John quietly, seething on the inside. The younger boy instantly attached himself to John’s hand the moment Stu was gone. He rubbed his thumb over the back of John’s hand, a small glare settling on the side of Stu’s head. 

“I’ll check to see if we can get out of the alley.” Ringo said as he hung his parcel over his shoulder. He walked his way towards the street and pressed himself to the brick wall of their old apartment. Slowly peeking around the corner, he instantly spotted the police officers and cars parked outside of their apartment building. The fire escape was teemed with them too. He quickly looked the other way, the road was clear. If they were really quick they could run down that street and then maybe loose them in the slums. 

Ringo looked back at the people covering in the shadows from the buildings and then gently waved his hand, urging them forth. He rushed over to the other wall, pointing the way he wanted them to run. Off they went. 

Paul barely had time to react as John tugged him along. They did a sharp left turn around the corner, running away from all of the police. Behind him he could hear shouting but thankfully no guns. Another sharp left and they were running down an even narrower street, filled with people of all kinds. Beggars, street kids who were sniffing glue in the shadows, old mothers with tits to feed an army, hookers, badass looking girls hanging out outside of clubs as well as vendors. Vendors, every-fucking-where! John cursed as he dodged yet another stand filled with apples. Ringo weren’t so lucky, poor thing. He stumbled into the stand, sending it and him flying to the ground, apples going everywhere. The angry man who owned the stand started shouting at them in some obscene language. Ringo rolled out of the way of a kick and got onto his feet. He looked back to see that a few police officers had followed them and he started running again. 

“This is a terrible hobby!” He yelled to George who shouted back a ‘what’ in his direction. “Running from police!” 

“Save your breath!” Paul yelled, glancing over his shoulders to see the police following them. 

John and Stu who were leading the group quickly took a left, spotting the train station ahead of them. 

“The station!” John yelled back to them. “There’s a train leaving!” 

They all sped up, rushing into the station and out onto the platform. There was indeed a train leaving, a freight train but a train none the less. Ringo made a beeline for the train schedule and read the times, this train was leaving for Hamburg. 

“We need to get on the train!” Ringo yelled and ran back to his friends. “It’s leaving now! We have to hurry!” 

“Stop them!” Someone yelled from behind. 

Paul felt like he was going to faint, his heart was pounding and he couldn’t feel his legs anymore. 

“W-Where’s the train heading?” Stu yelled, stuttering on his lack of breath. 

“Hamburg!” Ringo answered as they closed in on the train. The whistle was blowing and they could see the train start to inch its way across the rails. 

Stu, Astrid, George, Pattie and John started to slow down when they heard that. Paul barely noticed, he was getting onto that train if that was the last thing he’d ever do. Ringo seemed to be thinking the same thing. The train was their only option out. Paul felt his feet leave the platform as he jumped into the open baggage cart on the train. His tired body hit the wooden floor with a crack and he sank to his knees, wanting to kiss the ground moving underneath him. He had made it and so had Ringo. The drummer was still stood and he walked to the door on the cart, looking out towards the station. Paul turned his head too, looking back. Where were the others? 

They were standing on the station, lost looks on their faces. Stu quickly searched the station, spotting a bus that would be leaving for the south. He pointed to it and yelled something but Paul couldn’t hear it over the sound of the train. His eyes found John’s, they were filled with sorrow. He went pale with realisation, feeling the blood drain from his face as he watched the man he has run away from his home for. 

John wasn’t going to come with them, and neither was George. 

Ringo took a shaky breath, pushing his hand into his mouth and biting on his knuckles. George waved at him from the station before he pushed Pattie along, making a beeline for the bus. His body was hurting from all of the running he had done and he just wanted to sit down but George was left on the station, ready to board a bus that he didn’t want to board in the first place. Ringo wanted to cry. 

John let himself watch the train start to roll away from the station before he was tugged into action by Stu. The smaller lad grabbed John’s hand, pulling him towards the bus. John got the memo and started running. Stu looked back at him, a grin on his face. John managed to lightly smile back, clutching his hand. Stu opened his mouth to speak but was cut off as a gunshot ran through the air.


	8. In the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here we go! I have had so much fun writing this and I hope that you have enjoyed reading it! Please comment your thoughts and opinions, I love to read them!

“My Dad hit us.” John’s gaze on the snotty boy next to him softened. “What’s your reason?” 

“Me mum was a druggie.” John replied. “And me dad left. I think he’s dead.” 

They looked at each other, sat on John’s new bed, well it was not new by a long shot but it was new for him, considering that he had just arrived. The other boy was snot nosed, hair dark and eyes bright. The clothes he wore were too big on his scrawny frame, making him look even smaller. 

“My name’s Stuart.” Stuart greeted him. “Mrs. Raymond told me that your name is John.” 

“Yeah, do you draw?” John looked towards where Stuart’s sketchbook laid open, crayons and pencils in a mess over his pillow. Stu gave a shy nod. “Can I see?” 

Stuart handed his sketchbook over, letting John look through his drawings. They were obviously done by a five year old, but they were good either way.   
\---  
John was growing into his clothes, Stu wasn’t. The boy stayed small and John could always find him curled up with his sketchbooks, hiding away from the other kids at the orphanage. Most children left after just a few months. Stu and he had been there for three years. John figured it was because Stu’s sickly appearance and John’s “charm” or the fact that they didn’t want to be separated, conquering up plans to make sure to ruin family interviews for each other. John could stay at the orphanage forever, as long as he didn’t have to leave Stu. 

His size did became a problem though. Since the other kids were growing they had a tendency to pick on Stu, beating him to the pulp at every chance given. This usually didn’t bother him. He’d put an ice pack on his black eye and go about his day, but not this time. 

John found him in the corner of the playroom and it didn’t take him long to figure out what had happened. Stu’s sketch block was in front of him, the pages were ripped out, shredded to pieces. His little fingers were gripping for the pieces, shaking whilst trying to see if anything could be saved. Obnoxious laughter could be heard from a couple of boys who made it their greatest effort to make Stu’s life hell. John saw red. 

He marched over to the boys, they were older than him and bigger. John didn’t care. He threw a punch at one of the boys, hitting him square in the nose. After that nothing could stop him. The boys were crying, trying to tug john away from them. He wasn’t budging until one of the ladies who kept the peace at the orphanage tugged him away, slapped him and sent him to their office.   
\----   
Stu woke up to crying, familiar shaking wails echoing from the bed on the other side of the room. He sat up slowly, rubbing at his tired eyes before dragging himself out of bed. His bare feet made a soft pitter-patter noise against the floor as he shuffled over to the other bed. John was still asleep. He was drenched in sweat, clutching at his sheets, digging little holes in them with his nails. Stu sighed and put his hands on John’s shoulders, shaking him awake. John gasped for breath and sat up, chest heaving, face pale. Stu didn’t say anything, he crawled into bed, pushing John towards the wall as he did so. The auburn haired boy relaxed slightly at his presence and allowed himself to lay down again. Stu wrapped his wiry arm around his friend, bringing him in against his chest. John started sobbing again. Not as heavily as the wailing he had done before. This was more of sharp intakes of breaths. Stu rubbed John’s back until the other lad had fallen back asleep.   
\----  
“Happy birthday.” 

“My birthday is tomorrow, Stu.” John huffed. He was curled up in the barred bedroom window of their room, staring out at the autumn rain. 

“Well, I got you a gift anyway.” Stu said and stepped towards him. This caught John’s attention and he looked towards the ten year old stood in the middle of the room, clutching something big behind his back. “I’m sorry it’s a little old. I exchanged it for my sketchbook.” 

Stu shuffled a little and brought out the gift he had been hiding. John’s heart did a double take. His friend was holding a guitar out for him. Sure it was a bit rough around the edges and the back was covered with stickers but none the less, it was a guitar.   
\----  
“Look at this, Stu!” John came rushing into the room, waving a torn out newspaper article around. Stu was sat on his bed, a canvas laid out in front of him that he and John had made from one of John’s broken bedsheets and a few planks. He looked up from his half-finished canvas, brush in hand. “It’s me mam!” 

“Really?” Stu asked. John shoved the piece of paper in his face. Stu wiped his hands on his jeans before grabbing the paper. It was a news story about some store closing in the capital. He frowned and looked back up at John. 

“Look closer!” John urged and pressed a finger down on the small picture attached to the article. “She’s there! That’s her!” 

There was a woman in the picture who looked like she had just been caught in the camera flash, walking past the store. Stu raised an eyebrow. The woman did carry a slight resemblance to John and it did look a lot like the woman on the photo that John carried around with him at all times. 

“This means that she is in the capital!” John grinned, stuffing the article into his pocket. “We can go to the capital and I can find me mam!” 

“You mean that we should run away?” Stu asked cautiously. “Oh, John I don’t know. What will we do when we find her?”

“I don’t know, don’t care! We can hitch-hike our way there.” John said and walked to his bed. “Come on Stu! An adventure, just you and me, eh?” 

The thought of getting out of the orphanage did appeal to Stuart. He bit his lip in wonder, weighing the consequences against the positives in his head. 

“If we find her.” Stuart said. “Will you go off to live with her?” 

“If she wants me.” John said, his grin faltering slightly. 

Stuart nodded, scratched at the back of his head and then nodded again. He hadn’t seen John smile that brightly in years, not since he got his guitar for his tenth birthday, which he still kept. How bad could a trip to the capital be? 

“Okay, I’m in. When are we leaving?” Stu finally agreed. John lit up again. 

They made plans to escape that same night. Both tore their blankets off from the beds and threaded old curtain rings that they had pulled from the curtains in their room through the corners of the sheets. 

“If we now put everything we need on the blankets and pull our belts through the hoops then they should become like bags!” Stu said as he packed away his paintbrushes and all the clothes that he owned. John followed Stu’s lead, impressed by the other boy’s creativity. He packed away everything that he had, which only took a few minutes since it was mostly his clothes and the very few books he owned. 

He took out the photo he had kept of his mother from where he had hidden it under his pillow. With a smile he stuck into the pocket of his jeans before pulling his belt off, treading it through the loops on his bedsheets. They both tied their packs shut and threw them up over their shoulders. John pressed a finger to his lips and then walked to the door of their room, opening it softly. The corridor outside their bedroom was dark and filled with doors, each containing small bedrooms, packed with kids. John looked both left and right, searching for the personnel who usually wandered the halls, making sure that the kids were in bed. When he didn’t spot anyone he slowly inched his way out and took a right down the corridor. Stu followed him, closing the door behind him as he went. The orphanage was deadly silent, occasional snores reaching their ears as they passed the doors, making their way to the staircase. John sent the staircase a glare, knowing form his nightly trips to the kitchen that the mother fucker creaked, loudly. Seeing no other option he grabbed onto the railing and heaved himself up, one leg on each side of the railing. The seat was rather uncomfortable but he didn’t care. Slowly he slid down the staircase, guiding himself with the hand that wasn’t holding onto his simple backpack. Stu followed him down, using the railing as well. 

John felt his feet reach the floor and he jumped off the railing. Stu did the same as he reached the bottom, small feet barely reaching the ground. Together they made their way out of the orphanage. 

\---  
The capital was a lot bigger than both of them had imagined. John was excited none the less, he was one step closer to finding his mother. Stu was happy to just be there with John. Even if they had to walk the last couple of miles because John refused to tell the driver how old they were. To be fair John had called the driver “a big fat paedophile” but that was a world away now. At least they had made it. 

“So where do we go?” Stu asked. 

“To the shop in the picture.” John said and picked up the newspaper article. He unfolded it and squinted at the picture, trying to read on the storefront. “It’s called Harley’s beauty parlour. Let’s go!” 

They managed to find the centre of the capital and from there they guided their way through town, asking for direction. People were confused what they were asking for mostly, until Stu picked up the news article and showed it to them. After that they guided them to a bar called Cavern. That was apparently the club Harley’s beauty parlour had been converted to. It took them the entire day to get there but finally, they were stood outside the place. John picked up the article to make sure it was the right place and sure enough, the storefront hadn’t been changed much except for the neon sign that had been added. 

“Think it’s open?” Stu asked, pulling a hand through his messy hair. 

“It should be, it’s lunch.” John breathed. 

“What are you planning on doing?” Stu asked and John shrugged. The smaller boy didn’t push the issue further. John, who wasn’t offering a further explanation stepped up to the door and tugged on the handle. The door swung open and the two boys entered. The place was well-kept, was the first thing they noticed. Dark, with grey walls and wooden furniture. There was a bar pushed into one corner and a stage in the other. Something tugged in John when he saw the stage but his main focus was on the bar and the woman stood behind it. 

“A bit young?” She commented as John walked up to the bar. Stu stayed by the door, not entirely comfortable with the given situation. “I’m not giving you drinks, boy.” 

“I don’t want a drink.” John retorted, sitting down onto one of the barstools. “I’m looking for someone. Do you know a Julia Stanley?” 

Her body went stiff. She didn’t reply for a bit, focused on cleaning out the already clean glass in her hands. Then she took a deep breath and put the glass away.

“What is it to you?” She asked, putting her hands on the bar disk and leaning towards John, taking in the teenage boy. “You can’t just come asking for people.”

“It’s me mam.” John blurted out. “And I want to find her.” 

“Your mum?” The bartender asked. “Julia is your mum?” 

“Yeah, my name is John Lennon.” John said. “Julia Stanley is me mam, have you seen her?” 

“I’ll be a minute.” She mumbled and hurried back towards the staff door. John watched as she walked in and stared at the back of her head through the small round window at the top of the door. His heart was pounding in his chest and he whipped his head back to quickly check on where Stu had gone. The smaller lad was staying put by the door, looking like he could run away at any given time. The staff door swung open and John looked back, just in time to see the blonde bartender come back out, a small smile on her face. Behind her there stood another woman. John’s heart was racing. 

He had found her. 

\---- 

The fairy tale meeting didn’t go quite as John had planned it. Julia still couldn’t take care of him and Stu. She could only take one of them an even that was a stretch. She did manage to find them an apartment on top of a brothel though. There was a landlady underneath them, who to both Stu and John looked like a witch. Big nose, a hint of a moustache on her upper lip. She let them have the third floor which wasn’t big. There was only one room, a kitchen and a bathroom. It was mostly empty too except for an abandoned bedframe. Julia helped them find a mattress and they shared the bed. It helped too since it was autumn and the room was damned cold, especially at night and in the mornings. 

Money became another issue. As they were too young to get job in most places John started to run errands at the Cavern where his mother worked. Stu was forced out onto the streets. Sometimes he sold painting to people, most of the times he rubbed dirt into his skin and the trashiest clothes they owned. Julia helped him put some ash from the ovens heating up the Cavern as contour, making his cheeks look hollow. Like that he was sent out on the streets to beg, which proved to be rather helpful. Since he was so lean already people tended to take pity on him and give him some change. All their money was spent on food or blankets. 

\---  
“Happy birthday, John!” Julia said softly. John was sitting by one of the ovens in the staff room at the cavern, warming his gangly body on the heat. He had completely forgot that it was his birthday and stared up at his mother as she walked in front of him and held out a box wrapped loosely in newspaper. 

“Thank you.” He said and put the present in his lap, starting to unwrap it. Something black caught his eye and he tore the last of the paper away. The box had no lid and he could register that the item he had been given was something leather. He slowly lifted it out of the box, a leather jacket. He looked up at his mother in slight awe. 

“I saw all the other boys your age wear them.” She said sheepishly. “It’s not the fanciest thing and it might be a bit big but then you’ll have something to grow in!” 

John blinked and stood up. He gently put the jacket on and sure enough it was way too big. He wrapped his arms around his mother’s waist anyway, burrowing his face into her chest. She stroked his hair softly. 

\---   
“Stu what are you doing?” John covered his nose as he walked into the apartment. It stank of the cheap alcohol based paints that Stu loved using when he painted. “Christ, open a window!” 

“The walls were to bare.” Stu said. He had rolled up his jeans and put on the light grey tshirt he used when he was painting not to ruin his other clothing. “Wanted to paint them.”

And painted he had done, a gigantic mural had sat its roots on the opposite wall of their bed. John shook his head fondly as he wrenched the windows open, letting air flow through. He turned back to Stu who was painting flowers onto a blue background. 

“Want to help me?” Stu asked, holding out a paintbrush for him. 

“Sure.” John said.   
\---  
Stu woke up when a hand slapped him across the chest. He frowned and rubbed his eyes, sitting up in the bed to tell John off for waking him. Stu looked down at John, only to see that he was still sleeping, brows furrowed and sweat running down his temple. The smaller boy bit his lip and gripped onto John’s shoulders, shaking him. The other boy flew up with a gasp, hands trembling as he pushed Stu away and curled in on himself. 

“Another nightmare?” Stu asked quietly. He pushed the blankets away and sat up on his knees. His arm came to rest around John’s shaking, bare shoulders. The other boy never wore a shirt to bed, it was rather understandable considering how many bad dreams he had to sweat his way through. 

“It was about mum.” John whispered. “She l-left me again, and then y-you left, and I was alone.” 

Stu hugged John closer, placing his head on John’s trembling shoulder. 

“I’ll never leave.” Stu mumbled reassuringly and then slowly guided his friend to lay down. John let himself be manoeuvred and he sniffled as Stu laid down next to him. They could faintly make out each other’s faces through the dark and Stu lifted a hand to wipe at the tears on John’s cheek. “We are brothers, brothers don’t leave each other.”   
\---   
“Mum?” The word still felt strange for John, even if it had been months since he had met her. “When do you finish work?” 

They were at the cavern. Julia had promised to take John home so he could see where she lived and stay the night. Stu was out for the night, he had met a girl called Astrid and decided to spend the night with her out in town. John didn’t understand Stu sometimes, how could a girl make him suddenly paint nothing but red and yellow colours and hearts all over his canvases? As well as stress about buying something as idiotic as flowers? They had more important things to buy, flowers be damned.

“In about half an hour.” Julia replied, “There’s a band playing out there. Go watch them, sweetie and I’ll finish up.” 

John nodded and walked back out into the cavern. There was indeed a band playing on the stage. He remembered reading the name Rory and the hurricanes somewhere. They were decent at least, a fantastic drummer! Meanwhile they were playing he stared out of the window, watching the snow come down and turn to water and slush on the ground. John leaned his head into his hand, sighing. The capital was not like he had expected and he didn’t know if it was for the better or worse. Of course he had hoped for a normal life with his mother and Stu but that was rather unrealistic. Slowly he looked back at the band, they looked like they were having fun. Sweaty from the stage lights, dressed in mostly leather and hair done up like Elvis. He imagined what it’d be like, standing there in a crowded club above everyone else and screaming his throat raw into a microphone. He imagined that it’d be quite a rush. 

His train of thought was interrupted as his mother came to his table and put a hand on his shoulder. That half an hour really flew past. Together they walked out of the pub and into the cold weather. John wrapped his jacket further around him and then smiled towards his mother. She smiled back and gently took John’s hand into his. The action made him feel smaller, protected and he didn’t even care that he was fifteen and walking hand in hand with his mother down the road. People could laugh, he didn’t give a single fuck. 

John looked over at his mother as they walked along the sidewalk, smiling all the while. 

“I love you, mum.” John let the words roll off of his tongue, a soothing warmth spreading inside him from hearing himself say those four words. 

Julia seemed to light up at hearing her son. She turned to him, opening her mouth to speak when suddenly she seemed to disappear in white light. Someone shouted “WATCH OUT!” but it was too late. John felt his arm get yanked, his mother’s hand slipping away from his. A car had slipped on a piece of ice and had been set of course. The blinding lights had been the car lights and John watched, frozen on the spot as his mother’s body was flung with the force. Her neck cracked with an audible snap and suddenly she hit the road a few meters away, limbs curling underneath her and back bent in an unnatural way. Her pretty winter coat was soaking up the water and slushy snow. Crimson red began to spread around her. 

“JOHN!” The scream was faint in his ear. He could vaguely remember Stu running towards him, arms wrapping around him. His throat was aching, he was screaming but he couldn’t hear it.

 

He felt the burning pain as the bullet brushed past his skull but he barely registered it. Stu’s hand was yanked out of his hand, his body flying back. The bullet had only graced John but it had hit Stu square in the forehead. John stood frozen in fear, remembering the way his mother’s body had been torn from his hand, now it was Stu. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear screaming and someone pushed past him. Astrid threw herself on the ground, clutching Stu’s lifeless body. Tears were cascading down her cheeks, dripping down onto Stu’s frozen face. He was still smiling. 

“JOHN!” He was frozen in chock, staring at the hole in Stu’s forehead where the blood kept pouring out, bubbling up and running down his eyebrows, into his dead eyes.

Someone grabbed his wrist and tugged him into action. He wanted to throw up and he could hear someone screaming Stu’s name. Maybe it was him, maybe it was the girls. John ran on commando, his mind shutting out his surroundings. He barely remembered as he was pushed onto something moving before his emotions caught up to him. Stu was gone, shot in the head. 

George pushed Pattie aside when he saw Stu falling to the ground. What was he doing? He didn’t want to go back to school, neither did John. He could feel Pattie tugging on his hand but he pushed her away and took into sprint. The train was leaving, it was leaving with Ringo and for some reason George couldn’t stand the thought of that. He screamed John’s name. The other lad wasn’t moving. If he didn’t move he’d be shot too. With his good arm he grabbed onto John’s jacket, yanking him away from Stu’s body and Astrid, poor Astrid. He clasped John’s wrist in his hand and started running for the train. It was leaving the station so George sped up, ignoring the police, the crowd of people, the girls. Pattie. He gulped down the tears threatening to distort his vision. Not now, not ever. Ringo was stood in the door of the train, watching everything happening outside. He spotted George coming towards him and reached his hand out. George gave John a push so Ringo could haul him into the train. Then it was his turn. The train was gaining speed as Ringo’s hand shot through the door. George gripped onto it and Ringo tugged harshly. He was sure that he could hear his shoulder pop as he was hauled onto the train. 

He felt his knees hit the wooden floor boards which were shaking underneath him. Ringo fell down next to him, pulling the gangly boy into his arms. The feeling of Ringo’s arms wrapping tightly around him, laying them both back into the hay made shaky sobs start to rock his body. Sometimes you forget that he’s only seventeen, acting like such an adult when really he is only a teenager. The stress of the last few days started to settle in on him, being shot, Stu dying, loosing Pattie. Nearly loosing Ringo. He gripped onto the older boy’s tshirt, body shaking with heart wrenching sobs. Ringo rubbed George’s back, holding him close and just rocking him back and forth. 

Paul stared at John for a few seconds. He looked unreal, sitting on his knees in the middle of the open wagon. George’s sobs filled the tense air and Paul barely dared to breath. John was shaking and his breathing was uneven. Paul briefly remembered Stu telling him about John having panic attacks in the past, maybe this was one of them. 

“John?” He tried, scooting closer. “John, are you with me?” 

The older boy’s head snapped towards him. At first he was viciously glaring at him, making Paul hold his hands up in a peace offering. When John registered who had talked to him a broken sob escaped his body and he crawled to Paul. The younger blinked as John climbed into his arms, wrapping his arms around his waist. 

“Paulie.” He whimpered. Paul felt his heart shatter and he hugged John close. He had of course seen what had happened to Stu. Who could have missed it? “Paulie, m-my Paulie. I-I’m s-sorry.” 

“Shh.” Paul soothed him, and moved a hand up to cradle the back of John’s head, holding him against his chest. John’s hand slapped down on his shoulder, gripping at the thin material of Paul’s shirt. He could feel John’s nails scraping at his skin but he didn’t care. “I’m here, you are alright.” 

“He’s gone, he’s fucking gone!” John sobbed, pressing himself against Paul like he wanted to melt into him, disappear into the abyss of his chest. The younger boy held him close, eyes shutting tightly. He might not have gotten along with Stu but he understood how important he was to John and hearing him break down was heart wrenching. 

John wouldn’t stop crying. His heaving sobs turned into hiccupping and finally sleepy sniffles. He had cried himself to sleep and it almost came as a relief to Paul. He relaxed against the box he was seated against, shifting John to a more comfortable position in his lap. The tired lad didn’t even stir. 

George had also managed to fall asleep. Ringo had taken the opportunity to gently ease George out of his jacket and shirt and change his bandage. The events of the day had taken a rough toll on George’s shoulder and he’d bled a bit. Thankfully the stitches were still intact so Ringo only had to roll some new bandage over it and then tuck him in under one of the woollen blankets he had brought. Ringo took out a packet of smokes from his pocket and lit one, pressing it to his lips for a long, thoughtful drag. 

“Terrible day.” He sighed, staring out at the moving landscape outside of their train. “How are you holding up?” 

“I’m alright.” Paul said quietly, caressing John’s hair with his fingers. “It’s hard to believe that he’s gone, and I barely knew him.” 

“He was a gear lad, fantastically talented painter.” Ringo shifted away from George and sat down against the ledge of the open door. He crossed his legs, leaning his head back and taking another long breath around the burning stick in his mouth. “Poor Astrid.” 

“I hope they make it to the art school.” Paul looked down at John who was sleeping against his chest. His face had relaxed by now and his breathing was much gentler. Paul rubbed his side. “What are we going to do when we get to Hamburg?” 

“John will come up with a plan.” Ringo said idly. “He always manages to think of something, a creative sod, he is.” 

“Yeah, he is.” Paul agreed and looked over at Ringo. The small lad looked knackered. He had barely said a word, nor had he cried. Not even when they assumed George was dead. George being “dead” felt like a lifetime ago, but it was only yesterday. Ringo looked like he hadn’t slept since then. “You look like a train has hit you.” 

Ringo looked back at him and huffed around his cigarette, muttering a small ‘I’m fine’. Paul didn’t believe him. 

“You should go to sleep.” He continued. “I’ll stay up and watch you.” Paul glanced towards George when he heard the younger lad shuffle under the blanket, a small whine escaping him. “He’s getting fussy.”

Ringo looked back at George too and saw that he indeed looked like a nightmare was hitting him. He had started to mumble and was twitching lightly. Ringo quickly threw the butt of his cigarette out of the open door and shuffled over to George. Without question he slid down next to him under the blanket and wrapped his arms around the younger lad. George instantly calmed down, nightmare fleeting away. Paul smiled softly at them when he noticed how fondly Ringo was watching George sleep. The older lad was holding George close, a tired smile playing on his lips as George instinctively searched for the warmth that was the drummer’s body. 

Paul stayed still and silent as Ringo’s eyes started to drop. He tried to desperately stay awake but the stress of today had apparently gotten too much and he lost the fight against sleep, slowly slipping into his own dreamland. Paul was left awake as the sun turned red on the sky and stars started to appear. Everything was silent except for Ringo’s loud snoring accompanied by the ever so evident train-sounds-orchestra. He closed his eyes with a sigh, enjoying the short moment of peace. That was until John stirred in his arms, a broken grunt escaping his lips. 

John came to and stretched a bit, popping his tired joints. He then let his head rest on Paul’s shoulder and he pressed a gentle kiss to the soft skin on Paul’s neck. The motion was soothing to him so he placed a few more butterfly kisses along Paul’s neck until his lips reached his jaw. 

“Hi.” Paul mumbled softly. John grunted something in response and enclosed his lean arms around Paul’s waist tugging him closer. “Still tired?” 

“Mm, lay down?” John suggested. Paul agreed, his arse was sore from sitting with John’s added weight pressing down on him. Wooden flooring wasn’t very good seating anyway. They shifted and scooted over to the corner where a few hay bales were stacked high. John took his pocket knife out and cut a hole in one of the bales whilst Paul fetched the blankets. Together they made a little nest with hay and blankets and laid down, curling up in each-other’s arms. John pecked Paul’s lips softly before closing his eyes. Paul closed his eyes too, resting his head on John’s chest. 

 

George was woken up by Ringo’s snoring in his ear. He was rather used to the terrifyingly loud noise but not right in his ear. He frowned and slowly opened his eyes. As he opened them he came to face the culprit of the loud snoring, Ringo’s obnoxious nose and mouth. Ringo had tipped his head back, thick lips slightly spread and eyes closed, clearly asleep. Now, George was usually a nice lad and he had a lovely temper but not if he was newly awoken. With a frown he started poking at Ringo’s stomach, willing him to wake up so the snoring would stop. 

It worked, decently. Ringo stopped snoring, a groan escaping him. He wrapped his arms further around George’s thin waist, burrowing his face against the other’s chest. George felt his heart beating faster as the older lad snuggled him. Ringo was known to be cuddly, especially in his sleep and everyone who had ever shared a bed with him knew that it would not be long before they became victim of Ringo’s clammy arms and legs. George gulped and reached up to stroke Ringo’s hair. The boy had stopped snoring but George wasn’t sure that he was asleep yet. He almost wished that he was so he could trail his fingers over Ringo’s soft cheeks and plump lips. He wanted to touch Ringo in more than one way. The thought made his heart flutter and his stomach tighten at the same time. It felt like when he had been crushing on Pattie whilst she was still working as a street-corner whore. George had been rather drunk at the time and his world had stopped spinning when he had spotted Pattie. With beer in his belly he had felt confident and walked up to her for a chat. He found it oddly easy to talk her into bed, not knowing that she was a prostitute. They had found an alley, done their thing and when Pattie had asked for payment, George had told her that he didn’t have money. She had ran off, George had followed her like a lost puppy for weeks before they finally got together. 

Now he was feeling all those butterflies again, but this time it was Ringo. He thought back to the day when he had talked to Ringo about one of his biggest fantasies and secrets. He had asked Ringo for a shag and he could recall Ringo agreeing to it. Would Ringo still be up for that? Would he agree to do more? George could feel his ears heat up. No, Ringo wasn’t queer. He had had many girls before, but so had George… 

Ringo stirred against him and George instantly moved his hand away from the other’s hair. The older man slowly came to, releasing his tight hold on George. The other boy found he missed the pressure of Ringo pressing against his chest. He rolled onto his back, stretching his short stocky body out. His shirt rode up and George found his eyes trailing down, finding a trail of hair disappearing down below the lining of Ringo’s trousers. 

“You woke me up.” Ringo mumbled, lifting a hand to rub tiredly at one eye. He looked over at George accusingly. 

“Your nose is like a trumpet.” George defended himself. “ ‘S real loud in me ear.” 

“Sorry.” Ringo said sheepishly and dragged his body up from the ground. He rolled his shoulders back and searched for John and Paul. He spotted them sleeping in some hay and blankets. Lucky sods. 

“Ringo?” George mustered and the other hummed. “You know when we were at the pub? When you had played?” The older boy tensed, George noted. He bit his lips and lowered his head. “Never mind…”

“I’d still do it.” Ringo admitted, catching George off guard. “If you’d like to.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

Ringo crawled towards George, driven by an earlier hidden urge. George let a shaky breath escape his lips, watching Ringo with half lidded eyes. The older man crawled over his body, making George lay back down on his back. It was strange since he was the one who usually crawled over someone, now he was on his back and Ringo looked ready to eat him.

“You alright?” Ringo asked suddenly. 

“Yeah.” George offered weakly. 

“Are you sure about this? I don’t want to do anything you don’t want.” Ringo’s eyes softened and he reached a hand up to place against George’s cheek. The touch sent sparks down his body, through his fingers and toes. 

“I’m sure.” George whispered and reached up to put his hands on Ringo’s sides carefully. He let his hands slide up and onto the muscles on Ringo’s back. “I want this, I want it with you.” 

Ringo licked his lips and then nodded. He leaned down on his elbows, warm breath landing on George’s lips. The younger boy took the final step and pressed himself up, pushing their mouths together. The initial touch of lips sent a shock through both of them, this was forbidden territory. You didn’t kiss your best mate, not like this. Ringo sighed softly, moving his lips against George. He was much rougher than any girl. The traces of a stubble scraped across his skin and the taste of lipstick wasn’t there. George tasted like cigarettes, smelled of them too but also an odd sweet taste, that of honey. Ringo wanted more. He opened his mouth and swiped his tongue across George’s bottom lip. The younger lad let out a breathy sound and granted him entry, parting his own lips. Ringo pushed his tongue inside the wet crevice, exploring every millimetre of his best friend’s mouth. He ran his tongue over the other’s teeth, the roof of his mouth and finally tackling his tongue. One of his hands slipped into George’s thick hair mane, rubbing at his scalp with thick fingers. 

George’s long hands started crawling in under Ringo’s shirt. The feel of hardened back muscles and rough skin was so different on his fingers. He followed the faint lines and scrapes of old scars, exploring every millimetre of skin. The shirt Ringo was wearing slipped higher, exposing him to the cool breezes of the night. The older man got the hint and broke the kiss to shrug his shirt off. George sat up, pushing Ringo back onto his lap. Their eyes locked and George licked his lips, carefully putting his hands on Ringo’s thighs and trailing them higher. His fingers splayed over Ringo’s thin hips and then tracing the faint scar over Ringo’s stomach. The older quickly batted his hands away, blushing a bit. 

“Don’t do that.” George mused, catching Ringo’s wrists in one of his hands. He used the other to trace the scar with his fingertips. Ringo took a deep shuddering breath as George shuffled him back and bent down, kissing the scar softly. “I don’t care. I’m full of scars too, remember?” 

“Should we do this with your shoulder?” Ringo asked quietly. He broke free from George’s grasp and traced the lining of his bandage with one finger. “Doesn’t it hurt?” 

“Not when I’m with you.” George said, making Ringo huff and kiss him again. A short smack of lips that made George lust for more. “I’ll let you fuck me arse, if you’d like.” 

Ringo exhaled loudly, his stomach doing an intense flip at George’s brutal confession. He wanted to lie and tell him that the thought of having George’s long limbs wrapped around him whilst he was buried completely inside of him, didn’t excite him but George was looking so sincere, his pale face lighting up like a beam in the dark that had settled over the train. 

“Please, Rings?” George’s hands began moving again. Ringo noted faintly how George avoided lifting his hurt shoulder too much and mostly used his left hand to trail over Ringo’s stomach and up towards his chest. A hand slipped around his neck, massaging into the hairline. 

“Okay, alright.” Ringo said and scooted further in on George’s lap. He cupped his face with both hands and kissed him again, wanting to taste him again. 

He eased George down on his back again and scooted back so he could reach George’s zipper. The younger boy’s breath hitched as Ringo fumbled it open and started to tug the tight leather pants down his miraculously thin legs. He got them along with George’s shoes and socks, which left him on his back in only underwear and bandage covering half of his torso. Ringo laid himself over George’s legs and kissed a spot right under his navel. George let out a shallow moan, lifting one hand to put in Ringo’s hair. 

“Have you done this before?” George breathed as Ringo gripped his skinny hips and continued to kiss across his flat stomach wetly. Big open mouthed kisses just where the lining of his pants cut off the rest of his skin from view. 

“Once.” Ringo hummed against his belly. “We need something slippery if I’m going inside you.”

“Vaseline?” George suggested, stomach flipping in expectation of what was about to happen. “I got Vaseline.” 

He pointed to where his leather pants laid in a heap. Ringo lifted his lips from George stomach, looking at the wet trails he had left behind and reached for George’s pants. He dug into one of the pockets and pulled out a tube of Vaseline and put that right next to them before leaning down and pressing his lips to George’s collarbone. He sucked the warm skin into his mouth, pressing his face down until he could feel shape of George’s bones against his face. He sucked a warm bruise into the skin before moving down to his chest. Ringo laid a hand over where a girl usually would have a breast, cupping the little amount of flesh that was there. Something about George’s chest being flat excited him and he rubbed his thumb over the skin until he got an idea. 

George watched as Ringo eyed his chest up. He gulped around air and watched as Ringo slowly lowered his head over his chest. He panted lightly in anticipation and soon felt Ringo’s lips enclose his left nipple. Oh. Ringo started sucking on the small nub, flicking his tongue over it and feeling it harden. His hand found the other nipple, rubbing it and feeling it harden between his fingers. 

“Mmnnn…” George gritted his teeth together, arching his back into Ringo’s mouth and fingers. “Ringo, more, more!” 

Ringo hushed him and moved his lips lower. He stuck his tongue out and licked a broad stripe down all the way to George’s bellybutton again. The younger gasped as Ringo swirled his tongue around the small hole on his stomach, dipping it in lightly. A giggle escaped him at the slight ticklish sensation but it didn’t last long as Ringo hooked his thumbs inside the waistband of his y-fronts and slowly pulled them down. They both stopped to watch his pants slide off. His erect cock slapped up against his hip, making an almost comical noise. Ringo licked his lips and wrapped a hand around the hard heat, giving it a few good pumps. 

“Ringo.” George whined and reached out with one hand. He grabbed Ringo by his belt and pulled him closer. Ringo scooted over awkwardly on his knees and George’s slender fingers started undoing his belt. The older man bit his lip and helped a little since George was only using one hand to undo his belt and then his pants. 

Ringo stripped off naked as well and then settled back down between George’s legs. The younger boy spread his thighs apart with a shaky breath. His face was flushed from pleasure and his eyes were half-lidded. 

“Do you still want me to..?” Ringo asked carefully, hooking his hands under George’s knees.

“Yes.” George hissed and spread his legs further in Ringo’s grasp. “I want you and yer cock. I want it in me.” 

Ringo released one of George’s legs and grabbed the tub of Vaseline. He coated his fingers with it and then gently pressed a finger against George’s puckered hole. The younger flinched at the initial touch and bit his lip. Ringo shuffled closer, making sure that he had just enough room to move his hand. He held onto George’s hip and then slowly slipped a finger inside of the boy who let out a grunt of discomfort. He pushed in slowly, feeling the tightness of the boy’s hole wrap around his finger. He slid in to the hilt of one finger, letting George wiggle around, trying to get used to the intrusion. George’s insides felt almost like a girls, only that there was a ring of muscle clenching around him. When he finally felt George relax around him he started moving, sliding his finger in and out, feeling and watching in interest as the skin of George’s hole moved along with his finger, stretching over his knuckles. On the next pull back, Ringo fit in another finger alongside the first one. George arched his back, a whine falling from his lips. 

He was loud, damn loud. Well from all the years he had spent with George and then with George and Pattie, Ringo knew damn well that George was loud in bed. He was even loud when wanking for fuck’s sake. Usually Ringo would enjoy George being loud, screaming and moaning his name but right now the Lennon and McCartney duo were sleeping just a few meters from them and he had to shut George up, quickly. He released George’s hip and pushed two fingers into his mouth. The younger choked lightly as Ringo’s fingers invaded him before he got the hang of it and sucked greedily on the fingers, working his tongue between them. A shudder ran through Ringo’s body and he went back to moving his fingers inside of George. He shifted his position slightly and crooked his fingers, feeling a slight bump under his fingers, he decided to press down on it. The effect was instant. George almost screamed around the fingers in his mouth, biting down until he could taste copper. 

Ringo hissed in pain and pulled his fingers free. George mumbled a sorry but Ringo didn’t listen. He picked up George’s y-fronts from the ground and rolled them up. He pushed his fingers in further and when George’s mouth fell open in what could have been the loudest moan of the night, Ringo shoved the rolled up ball of underwear into his mouth. 

With George efficiently gagged Ringo continued spreading his fingers, scissoring the boy open. As he felt his rim loosen he decided that George was ready so he slipped his fingers out and dug them into the can, fishing out more Vaseline. He smeared it over his dick and positioned himself at George’s hole. He pushed into the boy easily, having added a lot of Vaseline. Ringo slid all the way in until George’s butt rested on his hips and they were both sweating and shivering. George was tight, damn tight and so hot, velvety smooth. Ringo felt like he was drowning in the sensation of George around him. Ringo looked at George’s face and noticed that he was teary eyed. The drummer winced lightly and reached up to wipe one of the tears away. 

“Want me to stop?” He asked quietly. The guitarist couldn’t talk obviously so he just shook his head and rolled his hips, pushing down against Ringo’s cock. 

Ringo slowly began to move, making little eights with his hips. He ran his hands down George’s stomach before gripping his good hand, untangling his fingers from the blankets. He laced their fingers together and slammed George’s hand down further up, next to his head. Ringo used the motion to lay himself forward, placing messy kisses to George’s throat. 

His thrusts were slow but hard. George soon noticed that the rhythm he kept to his fucking was equally good to that off his drumming. Hard, long thrusts that reached deep inside of him. 

“Fuck Georgie.” Ringo breathed over him. George opened his eyes which had fallen shut in an odd kind of pleasure. Ringo hadn’t found that spot that all the male hookers kept talking about but it was still good. He looked down at where Ringo was staring and saw something that almost made him cum on the spot. Ringo was a big boy, which wasn’t fair due to his short height, and he was big enough that they could both see a shallow movement underneath the skin on George’s lower stomach. Ringo slid one hand down to George’s hips and boosted him up, managing to stuff a leather jacket under his butt to keep him raised. Ringo angled his thrusts and George let out a gargled scream as Ringo hit the spot, right on. Ringo let out a low groan, watching as George’s stomach moved with every hard thrust of his hips. 

George spat out the underwear Ringo had stuffed into his mouth and moaned with every movement, a breathy string of ‘ah, ah, ah’ that made Ringo’s head spin with pleasure. 

“Ringo please.” He begged. “I’m so close Ringo, fuck me, ah, fuck me harder! Fucking hell Ringo!” 

Ringo didn’t even care about shutting him up. He moved his hips faster, thrusts becoming erratic as he lost himself in the waves of pleasure. 

“I’m close, Georgie.” Ringo breathed. 

“Cum in me, I want it, I want it!” George sounded like a whore. Ringo had never heard George sound like that before and he had heard George in every state of undone, even once when George thought that he and Pattie were alone and he let her ride him. The thought of being the only one who could bring George this amount of pleasure spurred him on and sent him over the edge. He filled George up with his seed. The warmth spreading inside of him made George come untouched, spilling over his stomach with a loud shout of Ringo’s name. 

The drummer pulled out slowly and dropped down next to George, trying to catch his breath. George curled into his side, latching onto his body with his good arm. George kissed Ringo’s collarbone softly before rearranging himself to lay on top of Ringo. 

Their precious moment was suddenly ruined by really loud cheering and clapping. George’s face paled and Ringo’s eyes widened. Oh fuck no. They both whipped their heads towards the duo laying in a nest of hay and blankets. They were partly sat up, Paul laying in John’s lap and grinning smugly at them. He was clapping his hands along with John who was hollering. 

“Cheers to George finally losing his virginity!” He called out, making Paul laugh into his shoulder. “Never thought you’d go queer!”

“Fuck off Lennon!” George snapped and sent them both a fierce glare. This proved to be useless as the idiots only laughed more. 

“How was it again, John?” Paul teased, sitting up lightly. John closed his eyes in preparation, scrunching his eyebrows together and letting his mouth fall open slightly, a perfect imitation of George’s pleasure-face. 

“Ah! Ringo harder! Fuck me, Ringohoho!” John moaned as an imitation of George, voice breaking at the end due to sporadic giggles. 

George blushed, the blood rushing both to his face and ears. Ringo wrapped his arms further around George’s waist, holding him closer and managing to snatch the blanket from the floor and throwing it over them to cover their modesty. 

“Oh come of it, John.” Ringo said and stroked George’s lower back gently. “I’ve heard you and Paul going at it like bunnies in the bathroom.” 

Paul felt slightly bad for George who was hiding in Ringo’s arms so he cocked his eyebrow at John who looked ready to sass Ringo right back. Paul raised an eyebrow and kissed his cheek to gain his attention back.

“Remember our first time?” Paul teased and enjoyed watching John pale slightly. George peeked over them in interest. “Mhm, got you sobbing my name. Paul, Paul, Paul!” 

John poked him in the side as he imitated how John had sobbed his name whilst Paul was riding him. Paul scooted away and continued moaning his own name. Enjoying the way John crawled after him and tackled him down to shut him up. It was worth the hassle as he could hear George laughing lightly into Ringo’s skin. John caught up to him and tackled him down on the hay, straddling his waist to keep him in a tight lock. 

“Shuddup, Paul.” John said and pulled Paul’s shirt up, exposing his slightly rounded belly. The boy was thinning out from the lack of food but his belly and hips were still rather round. Paul let out a childish squeak as john pressed his fingers into Paul’s side, speeding his fingers over the soft skin and flesh, eliciting ringing laughter from the younger lad. “Sweet revenge!” 

Ringo and George watched them go at it. The younger slowly turned back to Ringo and kissed his cheek. He then sat up on Ringo’s hips and reached for his leather jacket. He poked a finger through the two holes in the jacket, wiggling it about. 

“We’ll fix that when we get to Hamburg.” Ringo said softly. His heart raced when he saw the hole in the jacket. There was something about seeing the damage on his beloved jacket that made his stomach churn. It was like a slap from reality that Ringo could have lost George. “We can get you a cool patch or something to cover it with.” 

George nodded and laid down again, clutching his jacket with his good hand. Whilst they had talked, John and Paul had stopped fucking around in the hay and had come to lay down properly. 

“If you get dressed, there’s place in the hay.” Paul offered, snuggling further into John’s arms. 

George and Ringo took up on that offer and hastily got dressed. (Ringo helping George mostly.) They brought their own blankets and bags to the hay bale and laid down next to John and Paul. Ringo laid down on his back next to John, their arms pressing together. George gingerly got situated on top of Ringo, just like before. He pressed his face into the crook of Ringo’s neck, breathing in the musky scent. 

“Four queers, eh?” John chuckled. “Two who reek of sex.” 

“Just sleep John.” Ringo muttered, his own eyes slipping close. “You don’t smell too good either.” 

“Night then.” John chuckled and cuddled Paul closer. 

“I love you.” Paul hummed into John’s chest. “All three of you.”

They shared a round of sleepy “I love you’s” before slowly falling asleep. George and Ringo with their legs tangled together, John with Paul wrapped around him. The younger fought sleep for a few more minutes and reached out, finding George’s hand and entwining their fingers and in that moment he knew that they had lost a lot, they had been through so much but Paul could still fall asleep with a smile on his face. Finally, things were looking up as the train headed further away from the country his father ruled and closer to Hamburg. The city of dreams.


End file.
